



(^ V ^ •» « - ^-<p vt» ' 




< o 



0- ,.•- V* 



THE IMMORTAL; 

^ Biamatic jtvomancc; 
AND OTHER POEMS. 



JAMES NACK 



ftTitl; a 3};hmnir nf tljB antljnr; 



GEORGE P? MORRIS 



NEW YORK: 
STRINGER AND TOWNSEND, 223 BROADWAY 

1850. 

^^ ^i^ri:* .^^ O^ 







v% V 






Entered according to Act of Congress, in the yearlSSO, by 

JAMES NACK, 

the Clerk's Office of the District Court for the Southern District of New Yt 



li. Craighead, Printer and Stereotyper 
112 Fulton Street, New Yo-^^. 



DEDICATORY LINES 



CHAELES DICKENS, ESQ 



Friend of my heart I — friend of the human race ! 
Though I may never gaze upon thy iace, 
Nor clasp the hand that has such wonders penned ; 
Yet when entranced by thy prevailing spell, 
I watch the ebbing life of gentle Paul, 
Or looking up, as at an angel's call. 

Pursue the heavenward flight of " LiUle Nell^'' 
Heart leaps to heart, and I embrace my Friend ! 

It hath been given to thy hand to trace 
All that is good and glorious in our race, 
As with an " angel's ken " thou hast divined 
The riches in the human heart enshrined ; 
Crowns, sceptres, laurel wreaths, or robes of state, 
Thy genius needs not, to reveal the great. 

Greatness is only greatness in itself, — 
It rests not in externals, nor its worth 

Derives from gorgeous pomp, or glittering pelf, 
Or chance of arms, or accident of birth ; 



IV DEDICATORY LINES. 

It lays its deep foundations in the soul, 
And piles a tower of virtues to the skies, 

Around whose pinnacle majestic, roll 

The clouds of glory, starred with angel eyes ! 

Such is the lofty lesson thou hast taught, 
But still diviner blessings hast thou wrought ; 
Like light from heaven, thy genius has unveiled 
Affection's deepest mystery of grief. 
And to despairing sorrow brought relief. 
Where reason and philosophy had failed. 
By opening the fountains of the heart : 
And therefore distant strangers give thee part 
In their affections, as a household guest, 
Who shares the sacred secret of their breast. 

There is a sorrow that can never die ; 

There is a loss we never can forget, 
Yet can it purify and sanctify. 

And mingle heavenly solace with regret ; 
And therefore do we love thee and thy page, 
Which moves our tears, but moves them to assuage 
And therefore do I hail thee as my friend. 

And yield the tribute of a grateful heart ; 
Though humble is the offering I send. 

Affection may some little worth impart. 



C N T E iN T S 







Page 


Memoir of the Author, by George P. Morris, 


1 


The Immortal, 


9 


MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 




To my Wife, 


87 


She calls Me Father, . 




90 


A Father's Dirge .... 




91 


The Watches of the Night, . 




95 


My Boy, 




98 


The Charms of Woman, 




100 


To Mrs. Mary B., on her Birthday, 




103 


A Valentine to my Wife, 




104 


My Little Friend, 




106 


A Hundred Years from Now, 




108 


Ambition, addressed to my Son, . 




110 


My Darling Little Mary, 




112 


The Mother's Pride, . 




]13 


The Power of Affection, 




115 


The Ringlet, .... 




116 


My Love Loves Me, 




117 


Broken Ties, .... 




118 


The Battle of the Snakes, an Epielle to 


Catharine, 


119 


My Pretty Birds, .... 




124 


To One Remembered still, . 




125 



CONTENTS. 



My Blue-eyed Maid, written at the Age of Fourteen 
To my Friend, R. B., . 
What Should we Do, my Brother 
The Grave of Mary, written at the age of Fiftc 
The Pearl-handled Knife, 
The Choice, .... 
To my Daughter, 
Mount Vernon, 

The Hero, inscribed to James B. 
Woman's Ministry, 
New Year Hymn, 
On the Death of a Young Sister, 
My Cap, .... 
To a Bereaved Friend, . 
Rest, Baby, Rest ! 
Walter Scott and Washington Irv 
The Font, .... 
The Sum of Philosophy, 
.Tane Eyre, written after Reading that admirabl 
Work, 



Spring is Coming, 
Love will Find out the Way, 
New Year Thoughts, . 
Good Night, Mamma ! 
Wedded Love, 

Resolution, .... 
A Woman as She Should be, 
Jenny Lind .... 



Parte 

121 
128 
129 
130 
131 
137 
138 
140 
142 
145 
146 
147 
150 
152 
155 
156 
159 
IGO 

IGl 
ib. 
103 
1G5 
166 
168 
169 
170 
171 



MEMOIR OF JAMES NACK, 



BY 



GEORGE P. MORRIS 



When genius of no common order is placed in con- 
flict with circumstances of peculiar difficulty, it presents 
a subject of interesting contemplation to tliose who 
take an interest in the philosophy of the human mind. 
Hence the career of James Nack has engaged the 
attention of more than one eminent writer. The ele- 
gant memoir by General Wetmore is familiar to all 
conversant with the literature of our country ; and, in 
the present brief sketch, we shtill, to a great extent, 
avail ourselves of his remarks, with a few additional 
particulars from other sources. 

James Nack was the son of a merchant of the city 
of New York. From his earliest years his attention 
to study and literature gave promise of future dis- 
tinction. His first efforts in poetry were at so early an 
age, it might be said of him as of Pope, 

" He lisped in mimbers, for the numbers came." 

But the fond expectations which his precocious talents 

1 



naturally inspired among his friends and family, appeared 
to be suddenly destroyed by an accident, which might 
have been fatal to the development of genius less 
innate, or faculties less energetic than those with which 
he was endowed. He had scarcely attained his ninth 
year, when one day, as he was descending a flight of 
stairs with a little playmate in his arms, his foot slip- 
ped ; in his fall he caught at the nearest article, which 
happened to be a heavy fire-screen ; this gave way, and 
descending upon his head, crushed and mangled it 
severely, depriving him of consciousness for several 
weeks, and of his hearing for ever. 

It is a natural consequence of a deprivation of hear- 
ing in early life, for the articulation to become gradually 
imperfect for want of an ear to guide its pronunciation, 
and Nack has not entirely escaped this misfortune. 
Hence, though his speech is intelligible to those who 
have grown up with him, and become accustomed to 
its peculiarities, he prefers to carry on his intercourse 
with others in writing. To many the loss of hearing 
at so early an age would have presented almost un- 
conquerable difficulties in the pursuits of science and 
literature ; but familiar with books from his earliest 
years, the spirited boy only applied with the more dili- 
gence to his studies. The result may be given in the 
words of the late Samuel L. Knapp, who knew him in- 
timately, and was well qualified by his own talents and 
attainments to appreciate those of his young friend. 

" His acquirements at this early age, in the languages 
and all the branches of knowledge, ordinary and extra- 
ordinary, are superior to those of any young man of the 



MEMOIR 



same age I ever met with. There is a strength and ma- 
turity about his mind rarely to be found in those who have 
experienced no such deprivation as he has been visited 
with. His criticisms have a sagacity and shrewdness 
unequalled by those who were critics before he was 
born. He acquires a language with the most astonish- 
ing fiicility. No one I ever knew could do it with the 
same readiness, except the late learned orientalist, 
George Bethune English. Nack unites in a degree 
truly astonishing, those two seemingly inconsistent qua- 
lities, restlessness and per sever ayice. He reads and 
writes, and does all things as though he had just 
breathed the Delphic vapor, and perseveres as though 
he were chained to the spot by some talismanic 
power. 

" In a few years our gifted author will find things 
changing around him, and his youthful labors will be- 
come the foundation stones of a goodly edifice, in the. 
fashioning of which he has learned the skill of a 
literary architect, and acquired the strength to raise a 
temple of imperishable fame for his own and his coun- 
try's glory." 

Such were the impressions and expectations that 
James Nack inspired in his boyhood, even in the 
veterans of literature ; and a boy of such extraordinary 
promise must have been remarkable under any circum- 
stances. But when we consider the difficulties he had 
to surmount, we must no less admire his energy and 
perseverance than his talents. As General Wetmore 
eloquently remarks, " had not James Nack been deeply 
imbued by nature with the vision and the faculty 



4 MEMOIR. 

divine — had he not been impelled by an irresistible love 
and a feeling for his art, he never could have overcome 
the numerous and seemingly insurmountable difficul- 
ties which met him at every turn in the opening of his 
career. Cut off in early youth from that familiar 
general intercourse which sweetens the days of child- 
hood and smoothes the path to knowledge, his sole 
reliance was on his own natural resources ; an intel- 
lect vigorous and clear, an imagination vivid and far- 
reaching, and a resolution that could meet and subdue 
the irreparable calamity of his life." 

On the publication of a volume of his poems, written 
between the fourteenth and seventeenth years of his 
age, it was hailed with wonder and admiration. One 
of our leading reviews, in alluding to that volume, says, 
" For precocity of talent and attainment under circum- 
stances peculiarly unpropitious, James Nack is an in- 
tellectual wonder. As far as known, Christendom 
contains nothing comparable to him. All things con- 
sidered, Chatterton did not equal him. He has written 
much, and many of his productions are of a high order ; 
all of them are marked with the rich and fervid out- 
pourings of genius. For intensity and all that gives 
to poetry its highest character, they are certainly not 
surpassed, we think not equalled, by any of the early 
productions of Lord Byron, and those youthful pro- 
ductions of the noble bard have never received the 
commendations they merit. It is not too much to say 
of this gifted young American, that when matured by 
time and finished by labor, some of his future efibrts 



MEMOIR. 6 

in song may equal the happiest of those that have im- 
mortalized the author of Childe Harold."* 

Among those who took an active interest in the 
young poet was a distinguished member of the New 
York bar, who engaged him in his office, and placed an 
extensive and well selected library at his disposal. 
" This situation," says Colonel Knapp, " opened a new 
world to him. He revelled in fresh delights, devoured 
books upon poetry, history, philosophy, fiction, mathe- 
matics, politics, ethics, criticism, and theology. He 
wrote as well as read on many of these subjects; formed 
a thousand theories, and tore them up root and branch 
for new creations." 

On the departure of this gentleman for Europe, 
young Nack formed an engagement with another of his 
early friends, Mr. Asten, at that time Clerk of the City 
and County of New York, who had been among the 
first to notice and appreciate his abilities. He soon 
mastered the intricacies of the various duties required 
of him ; and the manner in which he has fulfilled them 
has been well described by General Wetmore : " The 
dry details of legal papers, the monotonous toil of 
searching the musty records of the courts, however 
•uncongenial to the poetic temperament, have no power 
to turn him from the path of duty. He enters 
thoroughly into the spirit of his various labors, and dis- 
charges them with a zeal and ability which probably 
few could equal, and which has secured for him not 
only the confidence of his successive employers, but 

* As this juvenile volume has long been out of print, a few of 
the minor pieces have been included in the present collection. 



6 MEMOIR. 

the warm regard and esteem of the members of the 
bar." 

In the early part of the year 1838, Mr. Nack was 
united to a young lady to whom he had been attached 
almost from her childhood ; and who, it would appear, 
from more than one beautiful tribute to her worth, 
which may rank among the happiest efforts of his pen, 
must have been every way worthy of his choice. 

The poetry of James Nack is characterized by a 
versification remarkably flowing, easy, and musical — an 
unaffected and felicitous diction — and a depth and 
tenderness of feeling for which he may be eminently 
considered the poet of the affections. 

His personal qualities could not be more accurately 
described than in the words of General Wetmore : 
" Mr. Nack's habits are regular and retired. The 
domestic attractions of home have a greater charm for 
him than the allurements of the world. The amuse- 
ments and excitements of society can rarely win him 
from his books or his desk. He is averse to mixed com- 
pany, reserved in the presence of strangers, but familiar 
and playful in the circle of his select friends ; of strong 
passions, quick to resent, but quicker to forgive ; prone 
to act upon the impulse of the moment ; of a dispo- 
sition gentle, generous, and sincere. He is fond of 
children, and successful in engaging their affections. 
With such qualities of mind and heart, it is not sur- 
prising that he secures the warm regard of those who 
have the happiness of his acquaintance, nor that he is 
most esteemed by those who know him best." 

In conclusion, the writer cannot forbear availing 



MEMOIR. 7 

himself of this opportunity to express his own high 
appreciation of the worth and genius of one whom it 
has for many years been his privilege to number 
among his most intimate and most esteemed friends. 

Geo. p. Morris. 



THE IMMOKTIL 

% Sramnttt Enmotitt. 



■ Once more in man's frail world, which I had left 

So long that 'twas forgotten." 

Prophecy of Dante. 



INTRODUCTION. 



The Drama of the Immortal was written at the age 
of eighteen. The author's more mature judgment 
has suggested considerable abridgment; and among 
the scenes suppressed, were some that perhaps might 
have been useful in developing the object and tendency 
of the work. It therefore may be as well to supply 
their place by a brief introduction. 

It is assumed, for the purposes of this work, that 
besides its visible inhabitants, the world contains a 
higher order of beings, of a spiritual nature, exempt 
from sin, suffering, and death. A man of lofty aspira- 
tions, impatient of the errors and infirmities of his 
fellow-creatures, and yearning for a higher communion, 
is permitted by Providence to quit the society of 
mankind, and to dwell nearly a century with those 
spirits, partakers of their immortality. Among them 
he forgets much of his experience of human life ; and 
it is not till one of the spirits appears in a form that 
recalls the most endearing recollections of his long 



12 INTRODUCTION. 

forsaken nature, that he yields to an impulse to revisit 
the world of man. All that he first encounters there 
conveys the most painful impressions of the miseries of 
the human lot ; and the spirit does not at first undeceive 
him, in the view of deepening the impression that this 
is not the world in which it is desirable to be an 
immortal ; but finally the spirit reveals to him the 
higher destinies of mankind, and the immortality to 
which we should aspire. 

With this explanation, it is to be hoped that the 
object of the work will not be misunderstood : and 
that if our lot in this world is portrayed in the darkest 
coloring, it is still intended to show — " With all its 
troubles, life is worth the having," especially in view to 
the life to come. 



DRAMATIS PERSONiE 



MoRELLi, the Immortal. 

Andrea, 

Leon, 

Hugo, 

Adrian, 

Carlo, 

Felicia, 

Marina, 

Julia, 

Arameth. 

Chorus of Spirits^ <^c. 



THE IMMORTAL, 



ACT FIRST. 

MoRELLi appears on the summit of a mountain. 

MoRELLi. Ye hills, wliicli towering to the base 
of heaven 
Receive its shadowed glory on your heads, 
Never profaned by human step, save mine ! — 
Ye skies ! — ye glorious skies ! — whose azure beauty, 
Melting upon my swimming eyes, compels 
The worship of my tears ; nor reverenced less 
In tempests, when the dark magnificence 
Of terror clothes ye — when the light of hell 
Glares on creation's pall ! Thou glorious sun. 
At whom I scarce can glance, so beautiful, 
So bright, so awful ! — thou appear'st thyself 
Too much a god, that such a thing as I am 
Should dare to worship thee, much less thy Maker ! 



16 THEIM MORTAL. 

And thou^whose milder splendors sweetly chasten 
The majesty of night ! and oh, ye stars ! 
Sweet eyes of heaven, whose tears of light are shed 
On man's unhappy world ! — I love ye all, 
Admire ye, worship ye ! Long have you been 
Companions to my eyes ; but ah ! my heart ! — 
Where can it be companioned ? Not on earth — 
Of all its multitude I found not one 
To recompense my love, or to deserve it. 
Nor here — howbeit my reverence and esteem 
These spirits claim, not being of my nature — 
Their sympathies blend not with mine. 

What curse 
Like the heart's desolation ! Still the same 
In throngs and solitude, interminable 
As hell, and scarce less fearful ! But these thoughts 
Avail not — I must fly them ! Arameth ! 
Hasten, hasten, Arameth, 
Whether bathed in music's breath, 
Whether on the zephyrs gliding. 
Or on burning lightnings riding. 
Whether earth in tempests whirling 
Or the stream in breezes curling, — 
Spirit ! whether thou dost over 
Scenes of love or carnage hover, 
Where are strewed the dead and dying, 
Or to beauty youth is sighing ; 



THE IMMORTA 



17 



Be thy errand what it be, 

Hither, hither, haste to me ! 

Come, though called by human breath. 

Hasten, hasten, Arameth ! 
Arameth [invisible). Form of earth and soul of 
fire ! 

I have come at thy desire ; 

Arameth is here to ask 

What thou wouldst appoint his task, 

And thy bidding, life or death, 

Shall be done by Arameth. 
MoRELLi. Comest thou from earth or air ? 

Tell me, Spirit, tell me where 

Thou hast been — what hast thou seen ? 
Arameth. One who might be named the queen 

Of earth for beauty. 
MoRELLi. Spirit, say, 

Canst thou think as sons of clay ? 

Spirit, I should think thou must 

Scorn the fairest breathing dust. 
Arameth. Fairest earthly work of God 

Woman seems to man and me ; 

Man adores the earthly clod, 

But the pure divinity 

Of that clod, the holy breath. 

Homage claims from Arameth. 



18 T Ff E T M M O R T A L . 

MoRELLi. Many years have passed away 
Since I've seen a form of clay, 
Save when on my own I look, 
Imaged in the silver brook ; 
And I now am first inclined 
One to see of womankind. 
Spirit, who all forms canst wear, 
Though thyself possessing none, 
Thee I now would look upon 
In the guise of maiden fair ; 
Take the image of the same 
Thou so beautiful didst name. 
Arameth. Light of heaven, be thou set 
In the hue of violet ! 
On the hyacinthine flow, 
Night, thy glossy shadows throw ! 
With the pure new-fallen sleet 
Let the blush of morning meet ! 
Of fire the brightness 
Of air the lightness. 
The softness of water. 
In earth's fairest daughter, 
Together blend ! 
Earth ! I dive into thy breast ! 
Now I as thy loveliest 
Ascend ! 



THE TMMO RT A L . 19 

[ArametA rises in the apparition of a beautiful 
woman. 

MoRELLi. Spirit, thou mockest me ! the form 
thou wearest 
Has no original of earth ; for heaven 
When it a being had created all 
So beautiful, for very pity could not 
Pronounce it mortal ! No, it cannot be — 
It cannot be that there is one of earth 
Lovely as this ! But how it tortures me 
To look upon thee thus ! There was a time, 
When I was yet among the sons of men, 
That as I gazed upon the face of woman, 
Proud as I was I could not wish myself 
A being of another world than hers. 
'T was the last link I broke when from the world 
Of man I sprang to yours. Thy beautiful 
Embodiment recalls such thoughts as might 
Render me less than man, though I am more. 

Arameth. And while thou wouldst be more 
than man, beware 
Of earthly recollections. By the express 

Permission of the highest, thou dost share 
Our immortality, from all distress 

Exempted that terrestrial beings bear ; 
For heaven's especial purpose this hath been 

To thee allotted, else to all mankind 



20 THEIM MORTAL. 

Denied for ever ; but should earthly sin 
Or even earthly weakness sway thy mind, 
That weakness or that sin to earth shall bind 
Thy lot again, and from the evils there 

Deliverance, save by death, thou shalt not find. 
MoRELLi. The warning is not needed ; yet if ever 
Woman should meet me, all as beautiful 
As thou appearest, I doubt temptation might 
Awaken for a moment. How dangerous 
Must beauty be to man, since it is thus 
To me ! It is not safe to look upon thee 
While thou art thus ! Become invisible. 
Or change thy form to one that cannot move me. 
Arameth. Ninety years have o'er thee past 
And no change upon thee cast, 
Speeding on this hallowed height 
As on earth a moment's flight. 
Think not that it thus could be 
Were thy lot mortality ; ., 

Though the form thou wearest 

Corruption cannot know, 
On earth's first and fairest 
Time a change will throw. 
Earthly beauty ! what art thou. 
When before thee thousands bow, 
When adored and deified, 
Dare not mock thyself with pride ? 



THE IMMORTAL. 21 

As tliy sire corruption name, 
In the worm thy mother claim ! 
All thy charms most glorious 
All by Time must vanish — thus ! 

[Disappears. 
MoRELLi. Can decay 

Ever lay 
Its withering rod 
On beauty such as thou didst wear ? 
His workmanship so fair, 

Will not the creating God 
From corruption spare ? 
Arameth. All must perish ! all must perish ! 
Perish all creation must ! 
All of dust return to dust ! 
MoRELLi. Alas ! may I not cherish 
A tmst. 
If there be one of earthly sphere 
Lovely as thou didst appear. 
The grave shall not her charms devour ? 
Arameth. Nor shall it; for the tomb 
Hath power upon her, but no power 

Upon her charms ; for all whose bloom 
Corruption e'er can know, shall leave her 

Before the hour 
The grave is destined to receive her. 
But behold 



22 THEIMMORTAL. 

How time shall mould 
Her form, then, if thou canst, repine 
That such should in the grave recline. 

Open earth and show 
What time shall beauty render ; 

The eyes once wont to glow 
With celestial splendor, 
Feeble in their socket damp, 
As the midnight charnel-lamp ; 
Here and there 
Dishevelled hair 
Loosely sprinkled, 
Wont in raven showers to flow 

O'er a brow 
Whose delicate snow 
A sickly dark usurpeth now ; 
Sallow cheeks, sunk and wrinkled, 
Limbs which scarce the frame can bear ; 
Veins whose blood is stealing 
Like icicles congealing ! 

Open earth ! open earth ! 
Open earth and show ! 
[Arameth rises in the a2?parition of an old and 
decrepit woman. 
MoRELLi. Away ! away ! What is there in the 
grave 
So horrible ? 



T H E I M M O R T A L . 23 

Arameth. Son of earth ! 
Human birth 
Gave thee many a human feeling, 
Which e\en here is on thee steahng ; 
But mark thou well 
The appearance now I wear, 

And let it be thy spell 
To guard thee from all earth's alluring fair ; 
For all must come to this at last ! 

Beware ! beware ! 
When beauty's glance is on thee cast. 
Remembering what thou seest now. 
Thus her magic disavow. 
MoRELLi. But why this caution ? Never here 
Earthly beauty can appear. 

Arameth. Nay, but thy wish I know 
Upon thy native sphere 
Another glance to throw 
And heaven thy wish forbids not ; near 
Will I attend on thy career, 
A warning to bestow, 
Should e'er 
Thy earthly feelings triumph. 

MORELLI. No ; 

They shall not. Arameth, I go. 

If but to test my strength ; from thee 
I claim no guidance ; let me owe 



24 THE IMM ORT AL. 

Myself alone the victory, 
If, indeed, for one like me 
Earth's temptations to o'erthrow 
Any cause for triumph be. 
Arameth. Beauty's influence conquer thou. 
And earth and heaven will thee allow 
Most triumphant conqueror ! 
Yet if e'er enthralled by her. 
Bear in mind that down the tide 
Of time her every charm must glide, 
Fleeting with each fleeting year, 
Till she become what I appear ! 
Oh ! why 
Do mortals heave the sigh 
And drop the tear. 
O'er those who in the bloom of youth and beauty die? 
Better in the grave decay 
Than be of time the living prey ! 
MoRELLi. No more of this, I gladly would forget 
That there is beauty, since I must remember 
That there is death and time ; howbeit the world 
To which I now return must oft remind me 
Of that, and much beside, for which oblivion 
Would be a blessing far excelling all 
To earth accorded ; yet as the observance 
Of human fate may better reconcile me 
To mine, convey me thither, Arameth. 



THE IMM ORT AL. 25 



ACT SECOND. 

Scene in the open Country. 
Enter Arameth and Morelli. 

MoRELLi. I've seen all earth, and all I've seen 
informs me 
That man exists only to mal^e himself 
And others wretched. I'm sick at heart with pity 
For all who are thrust into a world like this. 

Arameth. Can that world no good display 
Every evil to outweigh ? 

Morelli. Nothing ! When man raves of a 
heaven on earth, 
I know it for the mockery of hell ! 
And there is nothing beautiful on earth 
But ministers destruction in its beauty ! 
When I beheld the tempest in its terrors, 
To me they were most lovely, till I saw 
That they were as destroying ; when the lightnings 
Bathed earth in liquid fire, whose withering torrent 
Blended the ashes of the habitation 
2 



26 THEIM MORTAL, 

With the inhabitants' ; or when the billows, 
Dashing against the heavens, in sudden swell 
Encanopied the bark that o'er their bosom. 
When they were sraihng, had as lightly danced 
As danced the thoughtless hearts wherewith 't was 

freighted — 
The hearts of those whose death-cry from the waters, 
Half-stifled, pained my ear ! How oft this ear 
Has heard within the space of one short hour 
The cry of death repeated ! From the thousands 
Crushed in their palaces of pride, or hovels 
Of vileness, all confounded in the shock 
Which hurled their city from its burst foundations ; 
From the red field of war, where myriads butchered 
Opposing myriads, till themselves had fallen, 
In idiot obedience to the will 
Of diademed fools ; or from the desert city 
Where all the air was poison, and the wretch 
Who breathed it, breathed his last 'mid reeking 

heaps 
Of those who died before him, and none other 
Near him among the dead, except the dying ! 
The sky was fair then, and I turned my gaze 
Towards it from earth's multitude of death. 
The golden moon smiled on me, and I said, — 
" Beautiful world of light ! say, art thou too 
A world of bliss ? or hast thou nauo'ht of heaven 



THE IMMORTAL. 27 

Except its splendor ? Even then thou art 
More favored far than earth !" Oh, Arameth ! 
Remove it from ray sight and my remembrance ! 
Arameth. Morelli, thou shouldst not advance 

A judgment from a rapid glance ; 

Wait till thou hast communed with men, 

In act and word, determine then. 

But one approaches — mark him well. 

By his appearance thou canst tell 
If time and death 

Are the mightiest to effiice 

Every charm of form and face. 

Enter a Man intoxicated. 

Morelli. Arameth ! 

What hideous brute behold I there ? 
Arameth. A man ! and such as thou wilt find 

Commonest among mankind ! 

Those features the impression bear 

By pleasure on her votaries set, 

When nature's limit they forget. 

Her characters we recognise 

In the dim, sunken, bloodshot eyes, 
Where quivers lurid fire, 
The unsteady gait. 
The hmbs opprest by one another's weight, 



28 THE IMMORTAL. 

Till thus they sink, and grovel in the mire ! 

Oh ye, whose aspirations climb 

To a god-hke height sublime ! 

There your fellow-man behold 

In defilement beastly rolled. 

To the vilest, filthiest vice, 

A self-devoted sacrifice ! 

Mark him well, and if you can. 

Glory in the name of man ! 
MoRELLi. Man ! methinks he would profane 

The name of beast ! 
Arameth. Thou sayest well ; 

Yet that form, so horrible, 

Was noble once — could once contain 

A manly, nay, a godlike mind. 

Elevated and refined. 
And a heart whose feelings were 

Of loftiest and loveliest kind ; 

But examine now his heart — 

How brutalized its every part ! 
His mind — what idiocy antics there ! 
MoRELLi. To what demon could belong 

The power to change him thus ? 
Arameth. Listen to the poet's song : — 
" How divine — how generous, 



THEIMMORTAL. 29 

The pleasures of the social bowl ! 
How they elevate the soul ! 
Care and sorrow find a grave 
Underneath the ruby wave ; 
And o'er it, fanned by pleasure's gales, 
Time, his scythe forgotten, sails. 
And laughing loves within it spring, 
Bathing the heaven-colored wing. 
And with it, when you kiss the brim. 
Into the heart delighted swim !" 

MoRELLi. But how does this the wretch concern 
To whom my eyes reluctant turn ? 

Arameth. Askest thou what to the sight 
Could thus hateful render one 
That once could every eye delight ? 
This the social bowl hath done. 

MoRELLi. Then who would touch it ? 

Arameth. Sad the truth 

That many in the flower of youth 
Deem that they a manly name 
From the drunken bowl can claim ! 
Great spirits ! they aspire to be 
Such men as thou in this canst see 
Exampled ! 

Mokelli. Men I would behold. 

But oh 1 not such ! 

Arameth. I'll show to thee 



30 THEIMMORTAL. 

His victims, and the misery 
From the cup of pleasure rolled. 

Scene changes to the interior of a hovel. Lying on 
thejloor^ two children are discovered, the mother 
bending over them. 

Mother. But he will bring it soon ! Alas ! 
poor wretch ! 
Hope is the only food that I can offer, 
A.nd hope myself rejects. How still thou art ! 
Has patience hushed thee ? But who can be patient 
In agonies like thine, poor innocent ! 
Thou moanest still, but in such dying faintness 
Scarce can a mother's ear arrest the sound ! 
Oh ! that my blood were like the pelican's, 
To nourish thee ! No other food is left us ! 
Ah ! now I hear him — ye shall yet be saved ! — 
I'll lead him softly in, lest he disturb them. 

[^Opens the door and returns. 

None near ! — I was deceived ! — and night is coming, 
And then the night of death ! Bear with me, 

heaven ! 
It is not for myself I dare upbraid thee, 
But these ! I am a mother ! — would I were not. 



THE IMMORTAL. 31 

Rather than they were thus ! And thou ! oh thou ! — 
Child of my heart ! — my dearest, lovehest one ! 

[Throws herself hy the youngest child, 

MoRELLi. Lovely does she call him ? 

Arameth. Yes ; 

His was cherub loveliness, 
Till a father's cruelty 
Made him even as thou dost see, 
Who in revelry has spent 
What should be the nourishment 
Of his children and his wife. 
Draining' from them the stream of hfe 
In guilty pleasure's draught unholy, 
Which hath him abased thus lowly. 

MoRELLi. Shall we as their friend appear ? 

Arameth. No ; a better friend is near ! 
And see, upon the infant's brow 
He shakes the chilly dew-drops now, 
And to the eyes' expanded glare 
Imparts the unchanging vacant stare. 
And bids the unmoistened blue lips sever, 
Again to kiss each other never. 
And shows the veins' meanders blue 
The cheeks' transparent likeness through ! 

Mother. 'Tis death ! — 'tis death has stilled thee ? 
Shall I murmur ? 



32 THEIMMORTAL. 

I will not ! Heaven, on bended knee I tliank thee ! 
The b'ow had pity in it. But oh, my heart ! 
Ask not what pity could be in the sufferings 
Which make the parent of the innocent victim 
Grateful to death for its release ! Hark ! there ! 
He comes at last to save thee ! — save thee ! Oh ! 
Let not such horror mock me ! Let me not 
Find that a moment more had kept the life 
That now is fled for ever ! Art thou there ? 
Come in, thou wretched father ! He is not near, 
And it was folly in me to imagine 
He might return, while that return could bring 
Relief to these who are not yet beyond 
Relief, as thou art, my sweet babe ! — my cherub ! — 
My cherub ! — yes ! for beautiful wast thou 
As heaven's own cherubs are ! And art thou not 
A cherub now in heaven ! But these fond eyes 
Are widowed of thy charms ! My God, forgive 
These ingrate murmurs ! Kindly hast thou ended 
His sufferings, and should I not thank thee for it? 
If I might murmur, it should be that these 
Are left to suffer yet. And shall I pray 
For their release ? Forgive me ! — oh, foi-give me, 
And curb my impious thoughts ! My heart is 
broken ! 

Arameth. Wouldst thou see more ? 

MoRELLi. Oh, let us fly ! 



THE IMMORTAL. 33 

In pity hide them from my eye. 

But hark ! what sudden sound alarms ? 
Arameth. It is the din of clashing arms ; 

And hark that groan ! in desperate fight 

Some wretch is struggling for his hfe. 
MoRELLi. Haste ! lead me to the scene of strife — 

Haste to protect the right ! 



34 THE IMMORTAL, 



ACT THIRD. 

Scene — a Garden adjoining a Country-house, 

Enter Leon. 

Leon. Seek virtue upon earth ! ha ! take the sun 
From heaven to light thee in the search, and then 
Thou wilt discover — what ? — what ? Why, the folly 
Of seeking^hat as real which exists 
Only in the imagined fantasy 
Of dreaming ignorance ! So have they told me, 
Who, when they sketched their picture of the world 
Set their own hearts for the original — 
Hearts which, unknown to virtue, would not deem 
That others knew her better. For myself, 
Should I allow to every human heart 
As fair a claim to \drtue as my own 
Can arrogate, and neither more nor less, 
I make no question but upon the whole, 
At such an estimate, all human virtue 
In the amount would be — let's see — let's see — 
Aye, aye, I have it — 'twould be — even nothing ! 



THE IMMORTAL. 35 

For take me piecemeal, and anatomize me, 

Body and son], yet will it pazzle you 

From my whole composition to pick out 

One particle of virtue. But I am not 

Of those who judge others by themselves ; 

Neither a votary nor an infidel 

Am I to virtue ; I mock her, yet I doubt not 

That she exists, and her divinity 

Breathes on the spirit of man, though not on mine ; 

But human deeds are not the oracles 

That tell me so ; I never trust to them, 

Or good or ill in seeming. To be certain 

Of any thing, we first must ask ourselves 

If we ourselves have known it. That assurance 

Have I of virtue, though I now disclaifti her. 

For I have known her once — might know her still, 

Tf so it were my choice. I was not made 

Her foe by nature, but by circumstance. 

I found this world was never made for virtue, 

But for hypocrisy, which steals the guerdon 

That virtue toils for in successless labor ; 

And therefore I conformed me to the world 

That fate has thrust me into. Virtue can 

Exist without the name, so can the name 

Exist without her ; and of these the latter 

I rather choose, and truly I have found 

The choice no bad one. 



86 THE IMMORTAL. 

Enter Hugo. 

Ah ! my saintly brother ! 
He sees me not : I will approach ; nor then, 
Nor ever, shall lie see me as I am. 
No more of truth, good tongue ! 'tis pardonable 
Unheard, not otherwise. Hugo, my brother ! 

Hugo. My brother Leon, welcome ! 

Leon. Who are those 

Advancing yonder ? 

Hugo. I think I see our father, 

Or the uncertain glimpse caught through the 

branches 
Deceives my eye, 

Leon. They turn, and there — 't is he 

Indeed ; but one is with him whom my eyes 
Remember not. 

Hugo. Nor mine ; but be whoever 

He may, he seems of noble bearing. 

Leon, Hush! 

Enter Andrea with Morelli. 

Andrea. Welcome, my sons, and give this 
stranger welcome. 
Who saved my life at peril of his own, 
But now, when at the mercy of banditti 
I lay defenceless. 



THE IMMORTAL. 



37 



Hugo. Words can never thank him. 

Leon. But hearts. 

MoRELLi. Forbear ! From all I know of men, 
No man has ever cause to thank another ; 
And the best deed that claims our gratitude, 
Probed to the core, betrays some rotten taint 
Of selfishness or worse. 

Leon. Yet virtuous men — 

MoKELLi. Are men unknown to earth. I have 
seen the world. 
And many are the things the world contains ; 
But two are wanting — happiness and virtue. 
Leon. Ah, say not so ! 

Andrea. My lord, it is apparent 

That thou hast been by evil men surrounded, 
And deemed that they exampled human nature ; 
But I have hope I may divert thy mind 
From such injustice. Let me recommend 
My sons to thy observance, for the virtues 
Of either were alone enough to win thee 
To an acknowledgment that all mankind 
Are not depraved ; those virtues long have flourished 
Before my glad paternal eye. My lord, 
Saidst thou there was no happiness on earth ? 
I would that thou hadst sons, even as these two, 
That thou mightst know a father's happiness 
^Vhen by his children'^ virtue he is blest. 



38 T H E I M M O R T A L . 

Had I no other cause to thank my Maker 

For my existence, it were cause enough 

For gratitude most infinite, that I 

Have given existence to such sons as these, 

Whose fiHal love and manly virtues bless 

Their father ! Oh, ye gracious heavens ! look down 

While thus I call your dearest blessings on them ! 

May theirs be all the joys that I have known, 

Without the sorrows ! May they in their offspring 

Be blest as I am now in them. 

MoRELLi. So be it ! 

I am no father, but my heart can wish 
A father's prayer success, when breathed as now 
To bless his offspring ; but upon occasion 
May not a fiither's prayer arise to curse 
Children whose guilt has cursed him ? 

Andrea. To speak of such 

To me, were as to speak of hell to spirits 
In heaven. But come, my lord, beneath our roof 
May further proof be found that happiness 
Is not unknown on earth. 

Hugo. Indeed, my lord, 

My Paradise is there ! 

MoRELLi. Well, may it prove so ! 

[Exeunt Morelli, Andrea, and Hugo. 
Leon. Aye, brother ! get thee to thy Paradise ! 



THE IMMORTAL. 39 

Is there no serpent near it ? Where is Leon ? 

Is there no woman in it ? Ha ! ha ! — what is it ? 

What is it but a woman ? — a woman ! — ha ! ha ! 

Oh ! what a precious world of fools we have ! 

Woman exiled us from the Paradise, 

Else our inheritance, and yet we make 

Our earthly Paradise depend on woman ! 

Marry, good brother, Hugo ! 't is a pity 

The tales our grandam mumbled o'er our cradle, 

And gownsmen still rehearse, in their impression 

Upon thee, turn to an account so little ! 

But trust me, if experience do not teach thee 

To better purpose, 'tis no fault of mine ! 

Let us remember that our father blest us, 

Though Heaven, whom he has troubled for our sake 

Will not remind us by the answer 

He looks for, if by any. Well I know 

The blessings that await thee ; thou art welcome 

To all of the kind ! I'll help thee to as many 

As ever I can, and more than I'll be thanked for ! 

But what said our papa ? " Ye gracious heavens ! 

May they be in their offspring blest as I am 

In them !" We crooked our knees in filial duty ; 

So will our sons when we pray over them. 

Whether they be as thou or I ! No matter — 

I seek not happiness from my own virtue, 

Or any other's. Ye heavens ! if ye do hear me, 



40 T H E I M M O R T A L . 

Let all m}?- children be — e'en what they may be ! 

But see the moralists ! How I hate their prosing '• 

Yet would I stay and cant like one of them 

In their own dialect, if so it were not 

There is another thing that I must look to — 

And let them look to it, for they must anon. 

Aye, rave of thy fools' Paradise, sweet brother ! 

I pray your pardon, that I do not stay 

To mark what you may please to say about it ; 

I've more to do with it. [IJxit. 

Re-enter Morelli, Andrea, and Hugo. 

Hugo. If it would please you, 

My lord, although we have not found them there, 
They will return ere we await them long ; 
But see 

Enter a Little Girl and Boy. 

Girl. Now is not this a pretty flower ? 

Boy. This is the prettiest though ! I'm sure papa 
Admires it most. 

Girl. True, mine is not so pretty ; 

I wish it were, for then it would so please him, 
And he would love me for it. 

Boy. Take this, sister, 

For you shall give it him. Pa loves us both, 



THE IMMORTAL. 41 

And I'm as glad when he is pleased with you 
As 't were myself. 

Hugo {advancing). Indeed, pa loves you both. 
My little cherubs ! and if anything 
Could make me love you more, it were your love 
To one another. Look upon me, stranger ! 
AVhile those dear lovely innocents are clinging 
Around me thus. Oh ! say am I not happy ? 

MoRELLi. And these are mortals ! — these ! Oh, 
Arameth ! 
How cruel is such beauty to the sight 
That shoots beyond the present ! Is it so ? 
And must they 

Hugo. He is strangely moved. 

Andrea. My lord ! 

MoRELLi. Sweet innocents, come hither ! Fear 
me not. 
Though for a moment from a fither's bosom 
I take you to my own. Rich as he is 
In your embraces, he without begrudging 
Can spare me one. How sweet ! My spirit springs 
Upcn ray lips, as if it there would melt 
Into the rosy snow they glow upon ! 
Yet what to me are these more than the other 
Children of men ? Heavens ! if they were my own 
What were the ecstasy, which even now 
Is like to that around the spirit gliding 



42 T n E I M M O R T A L . 

When all the air is music ! How this kiss — 
And this — and this, thrill my delighted soul ! 
TBut ah ! what are they to a father's kiss ? 
A father's kiss ! Oh, if I had a child — 
A child of mine, upon whose cheek of beauty 
My lips might dwell, as now they dwell on this, 
Ye heavens ! I would entreat you in that moment 
The cherub and myself might both become 
Immovable to all eternity ! 
For sure a father's kiss were heaven itself 
Were it but as eternal ! But they struggle 
To seek their father's arms again ; nor longer 
Will mine imprison them from the embrace 
They love. Receive them. Now I call thee happy ! 
Mortal ! thou art a father ! 

Arameth {invisible). Morelli, hear ! 
MoRELLi. Arameth ! 
Arameth. Listen and reply, 

For every mortal ear 
Is deadened wliile I hover nigh ; 
And glazed is every mortal eye 
As in the fixed transparency, 
Fascinating painfully. 
The gazer on the wreck of death ! 
Behold 
The group around, 
Wlio stand as if their mould 



THEIM MORTAL. 43 

Were marble ! Feeling, sight, and sound, 
All forsake tliem, save their breath, 
Till I take the spell away. 
Mark those infant forms of clay ; 
Though lifeless rnarble either seemeth, 
Around their glowing features beameth 
A magical charm, which appears to be 
The spirit of the Divinity ! 

See ! oh, see ! 
Are they not beautiful ? and would they not. 
If thine, be dear to thee ? 
MoRELLi. Dear ! oh, heaven ! 
Arameth. Wilt thou embrace a mortal lot, 
That such as those 
May to thyself be given ? 

Hast thou forgot 
That thy life among mankind 

Was but a life of woes ? 
Cause but httle couldst thou find 
To think thyself the giver's debtor ; 
Theirs perhaps may be no better : 
Soon their blessings may forsake them, 
Curses soon may overtake them ; 
Yes, their fate may in a morrow 
Turn their parents' joy to sorrow ; 
Withering fever may embrace them, 
Pale consumption may deface them. 



44 THE IMMORTAL. 

Hide their bloom in ghastly whiteness, 
Sink their eyes, and quench their brightness ; 
And shouldst thou behold them languish, 
Writhing on a bed of anguish. 
And the father o'er them bending. 
Listening, with bosom rending, 
To the smothered feeble moaning, 
Or the wild hysteric groaning, — 
Mark his feelings, and inquire, 
Who would be a mortal sire ? 
Chorus of Spirits. Who would be a mortal 

sire ? {wild laughter.) 
MoRELLi. Canst thou be Arameth ? Art thou 
not rather 
A spirit accurst ? And who are those with thee. 
Echoing thy laugh of horrid mockery ? 
Arameth. Morelli ! 

MoRELLi. Vex me not. These eyes are blinded 
What is it dims them ? — tears ? 
Arameth. Morelli ! 
Morelli. Wretches ! 

Back to your native hell ! I knew ye were not 
Of heaven ; but did not think that ye were spirits 
Of evil, else when it was offered first 
I would have spurned your fellowship, as now 
T spurn it, for I know ye ! Hell alone 
Could laugh to mock a father's agonies ! 



THEIM MORTAL. 46 

Earth, I abhor thee ! — man, I would despise thee, 
But that thou art beneath contempt ! And yet. 
Earth ! thou shalt be my home, and man shall be 
My fellow ! Rather would I weep with mortals 
For mortal sorrows, than laugh at them with fiends ! 
Arameth. We laugh, but not at human woes ; 
We laugh at human folly ! 
He to whose view 
Stern melancholy 
The destiny of mortals shows, 
In the hue 
Most dark and true ; 
He who knows 
What sorrows man is born to bear, 
What sins to do, — 
Can he suppose 
That it can be a mortal's prayer 
To be a father, and to send 

Others into the world to share 
The curses that himse f attend ? 
We laugh at this, yet might we weep, 

For folly so insane 
To contemplation deep 

Presents a sight of pain ! 
Childless mortal ! check the prayer 
Thou wouldst proffer for an heir ! 



46 THEIM MORTAL. 

Not name and fortune alone would be 
His inheritance from thee. 
No, ah no ! he would inherit 

All the damning sins that stain, 
All the pangs that wring thy spirit ! 

Man but hves for sin and pain ! 
Is it then not truly said, 
Favored is the childless bed ? 
Chorus. Favored is the childless bed ! 
Arameth. Lay to heart what we have spoken ; 

Answer not — the spell is broken ! 
"Andrea. My lord you have been silent long, as 
rapt 
In some deep meditation ; may we ask 
To know its nature ? 

MoRELLi. In your ignorance 

Be happy. Knowledge is the deadliest foe 
To happiness, which lives not for a moment 
Save in delusion. Why should these poor infants 
Cling to their parents with such trusting fondness ? 
What have ye done in merit of their love ? 
Hugo. We love them. 

MoRELLi. And that love ye manifest 

By your endearments, lavishing upon them 
Your kisses and caresses, which you cannot 
Be sparing of for your own pleasure's sake. 



THEIM MORTAL. 47 

But spare ye nothing from your children — nothing ! 
Yield them your all — grovel in earth before them — 
Sweat in the toil of slaves for them — tear open 
Your bosom, that, if it may pleasure them, 
Those lips, on which you set your seal of love, 
May drain the very life-blood from your heart ! 
All were too little to atone the sin 
That you have done against them. 

Hugo. How, my lord ? 

MoRELLi. Did you not give them life ? And 
what is life ? 
Sin, sorrow, danger, disappointment, pain. 
Wounds, sickness, toil, fatigue, ennui, distress, 
Deserted loneliness, friendship estranged, 
Afifection wronged, heart wrung, hope crushed, 

fame blighted. 
Remorse, despair, and phrensy — this is life ! 

Andrea. My lord, when young and struggling 
with the world. 
Such bitter thoughts were mine ; but I have found, 
With all its troubles, life is worth the having, 
And so thou wouldst acknowledge, didst thou know 
The blessings that are given us ; if thou wert 
A father. 

MoRELLi. Ever may such curse be spared me ! 

Hugo. And sure thou hast forgotten what it is 
To have a father— -to be blest by him — 



48 THEIM MORTAL. 

To bless ourselves in blessing him — to shield 
His venerable head from every gale 
That blows too rudely. 

Andrea. Happy wouldst thou be 

If thou hadst sons like mine. 

Enter Adrian and Carlo. 

And there approaches 
My youngest hope, and with him, my poor Carlo, 
My brother's orphan boy, dear to my heart 
As if he were my own. Observe the smile 
That brightens either face — are they not happy ? 
Adrian. Joy ! joy ! my father ! Bless me ! — 
need I ask it. 
Blest as I am ? My knee can scarce support me 
Beneath the o'erwhelming weio;ht of happiness ! 
Here let me lie till calmness still the brain, 
Now whirled in ecstasy ! My own Felicia ! 
Mine — yes ! my own ! Oh ! I could weep, Felicia ! 
Carlo. Let not the shock of joy crush reason's 
throne. 
My friend. 

Adrian. She loves me ! — yes ! she does — she 
loves me ! 
Trouble me not, for I would think of this, 
And all but this forget ! Away ! away ! 



THEIM MORTAL. 49 

Carlo. My joys are none the less, though 
better mastered, 
They burst not forth in an extravagance 
That threatens reason. Yes, my more than father, 
I am most happy that, with thy approval. 
Before to-morrow's close shall Julia bless me. 
But she approaches, whose consenting smile 
Has phrensied Adrian. 

Enter Felicia. 
Arameth appears as a decrepit old ivoman. 

Arameth. Look upon me in a guise, 
Visible only to thy eyes ; 
She whom thou beholdest there 
Is one of human birth. 
The loveliest on earth ; 
But of the beauty mortals wear, 
If thou wouldst see 
The essential worth. 
Gaze at her, then gaze at me. 
Morelli. Away ! 'Tis she ! — 'tis she ! Oh ! 
Arameth ! 

[Morelli rushes to Felicia, a7id falls at her 
feet. The others group around in wonder and 
anxiety. Scene closes. 



50 THE IMMORTAL 



ACT FOURTH. 

MoRELLi is discovered lying insensible on the 
summit of a hill. 

Arameth (invisible). Awake ! 
From the sleep 
That thee doth steep, 
Awake ! awake ! 
Dead obhvion from thee shake ! 
The scattered senses all 
To thy mind recall ! 
Awake ! awake ! awake ! 
MoRELLi. It was a vision, and a dreary one ; 
But it hath past, and I am wakened now, 
To what ? — to dreariness whose heavy darkness 
They scarce can dream of, whom it never shrouded ; 
Nor can it pass away, save with existence ! 
But it is well existence hath an end. 
And with it ends its sorrows. I have dreamed 
My curse of hfe eternal ; now awakened, 
How glad am I to know there yet shall be 



THE IMMORTAL. 51 

A time, that my last sigh shall with a breath 
Scatter together the sorrows and the ashes 
Of what was once a heart, like to a wild 
Deserted, open still to the approach 
Of all, yet shunned by all ; or if by any 
Approached, by them approached with clogged 

reluctance. 
And instant fled with feathered eagerness ; 
Thus the aflfections of mankind, to whom 
My heart was ever open, have approached it 
And vanished from it ; thus would hers, the bright 
Creation of the vision, she who burns 
My eyes, my soul, with her sun-dazzling beauty, 
Which blazes on me still as if it were 
Before me, though I know 'twas but a dream. 
Oh, thou mysterious power ! whate'er thou art, 
That giveth to the mind delusion's eyes 
When sleep hath locked the body's, to what end 
Hast thou this vision sent ? Wouldst madden me 
With the imagination of a beauty. 
Found in no Avorld but those of thy creation ? 
Whate'er thy end in that, I need not ask 
Why I was linked by thee to beings as far 
Above me as I deem mankind beneath me ; 
'T was to instruct me, that might it be so 
Indeed, the desolation of my heart 



52 T H E I M M O R T A L . 

Were none the less. And this was meant for 

comfort ! 
'T is the philosophy of desperation 
Wrings comfort from the thought, that from the worst 
No change is for the worse ; but thou hast shown 
That none were for the better. Must I find 
In this my consolation ? 

Arameth. Morelli ! 

MoRELLi. Ha ! 

Arameth. MoreUi ! 

Morelli. It was no dream then ! 

Arameth appears. 

Fearful being ! I know thee ! 
Arameth. Time was thou didst curse thy fate, 
That ungenial tie should mate 
One of thy aspiring mind 
To the nature of mankind. 
Thy indignant aspiration 
After more exalted station 
Happened to arrest my ear, 
As I chanced to hover near. 
Then I, looking in thy soul, 
Saw it dark by the control 
Of sorrow, not of guilt ; I viewed 
Its errors, but they were endued 



THE IMMORTAL. 63 

With something noble ; all declared 
That thou wouldst be well prepared, 
From some few frailties purified, 
With our spirits to abide : 
And, with heaven's allowance, then 
I took the form that thou dost call 
Fearful, but I remember when 
I told thee I could disenthrall 
Thee from the fellowship of men. 
This form was welcome to thy sight ; 
Haply thou art altered quite, 
And deemest I have done thee wrong. 
To raise thee from the human throng ; 
Speak, and to them I thee restore. 
MoRELLi. Nay, let me first observe them more. 
Arameth. And hither some this moment tend 
Whose fate will much instruction lend ; 
But it fits not thou shouldst claim 
Their present sight ; they are the same 
From whom I snatched thee in thy trance. 
MoRELLi. Then conceal us from their glance. 
Arameth. Ye exhalations which arise 
From, the sun-clad <feep. 
And ascending athwart the skies, 

Hiding their azure sweep, 
And slowly, to darken mortal eyes. 
The air displacing, creep ; 



54 THEIMMORTAL. 

And every mortal so enshroud, 

That he might think the earth had all 

Evaporated in a cloud, 

Now let your shadows on us fall ; 

Come and veil us, where we stand, 

From observance, while our glance 

May to all around advance ; 

Come ! 't is Arameth's command ! 

\_A mist encircles the kill. 

Enter Andrea, Hugo, Leon, Adrian, Villagers^ 
c&c, in procession, to the bridal of Carlo and 
Julia. 

Choir of Maidens. 

Oh, Love ! the maiden's joy and pain ! 

Be thou our guide to Hymen's shrine ! 
For his is but an iron chain 

When linked by any hand but thine. 
But, by thy glowing fingers twined, 
His ties are as the ties that bind 

The blessed soul to heaven ! 
But why for these fhould we implore 
The flowery fetters, which before 

Thy smile to them has given ? 
Of thee we need but supplicate 
That ours may be as blest a fate ! 



THE IMMORTAL. 55 

Leon (aside). Amen, my dears ! but, prithee, 

mark the end of it. 
And see what you have prayed for ! Now I think 

on't, 
I will not say Amen ! I wish no evil, 
Sad sinner as I am, but when I think 
That it may work toward my gain or pleasure. 
But hush ! there is another group of fools 
Hemming their prelude to more prayers. Let's 

hear them ! 

Choir of Matrons. 

The ties of Hymen we have found 

A wreath of blended thorns and flowers ; 

Its sweetness floats our hearts around. 
But with the sw^eets the stings are ours. 

Oh, love ! we pray thee on the wreath 
That shall unite these lovers, breathe 

That every thorn may be scattered away, 

But bloom and fragrance for ever stay ! 

Hugo. Immortal be their love ! 

Leon (aside). So ! it is prayed well ! 

But I am fooled if it speed any better 
Than my own prayer — immortal be the lovers ! 

Carlo. Julia ! 

Rosa. What says my love ? 



66 THE IMMORTAL. 

Carlo. I am in heaven ! 

Leon (aside). Thy love shall soon be there ! 

Carlo. This is a moment 

Worthy the sufferance of a thousand ages 
Of agony ! 

Leon (aside). And it is but a moment ! 

[Julia shrieks and falls. 

Hugo. Merciful heaven ! 

Leon. Aye, heaven 's most merciful ! 

Hugo. She is dead, I fear. 

Carlo. She dead ! Who dares to say it ? 

'T is false ! — what ! — dead ! — my own ! — my beau- 
tiful !— 
My love ! — my bride ! Dead ! — dead ! — and now — 
oh, Julia ! 

Leon. Thy love is now in heaven ! 

Carlo. I were in hell then ! 

Are these lips cold ? They burn my soul ! 

Andrea. My son, 

Seek comfort in submission. 

Carlo. I will ! — I will ! 

Say, do I weep ? 

Andrea. I would to heaven thou couldst ! 

Carlo. Now who shall part us, Juha ? 

Hugo. See the blood 



THE IMMORTAL. 57 

Bursts from his i-iveii heart, and gushes forth 
Through his mouth, ears, and nostrils — even his 

eyes ! 
Leon. He is dead ! 

Andrea. Why do I hve ! 

Leon. Think of your precept — 

Seek comfort in submission ! The example 
Becomes you, father ; let us have no murmurs. 
Since heaven saw fit to call him to itself, 
The will of heaven be done ! 

Hugo. Behold, how changed 

This countenance ! It was no deed of heaven's, 
But of some devil on earth ! She has been poisoned. 

Leon. Who could have done it ? 

Adrian. Be he whom he may, 

My vengeance follows him, though he should leap 
To hell from its pursuit ! Is it not enough 
Such sweetness is his victim, but my friend ! — 
My friend ! Ye heavens, hear me ! If I forgive 
His murderer, deny me your forgiveness 
For ever and for ever ! Hear me, my friend. 
And thou, his murdered love, while thus I take 
Each by the death-chilled hand, I call upon 
Your spirits to attest my vow, most dearly 
To have ye both avenged ! If I forget it, 
Hurl upon me the due of your destroyer ! 

Leon. I pray you utter not such bloody thoughts ; 



58 THE IMMORTAL, 

Let me not name a savage in my brother. 
Such fierce intemperance is most unworthy 
A man who knows his duty. 

Adrian. Mine I know, 

And I will do it. Look at these, then tell me 
If duty bids us stand and moralize, 
As if we had no hfe but in our tongues ! 
Should we not rather be heaven's instruments 
To avenge them ? 

Andrea. Heaven can need no instrument ; 
And heaven alone knows whose the guilty head 
That claims its vengeance. 

Leon. Sirs, revenge is sin, 

Yet justice is a duty ; would we knew 
Whither to send her to overtake the guilty ! 
But since suspicion hovers on a wing 
Uncertain, nor can find a resting-place 
For justice to alight on, let us leave it 
To heaven to send a guide in its good time. 
But are we sure she is poisoned ? 

Andrea. Can we doubt it ' 

The suddenness of the effect ; the change 
In these once seraph features. 

Leon. Sadder change 

Is coming ; let us hide her in the grave 
Before her charms be horrors. 

Hugo. From his arms 



THEIM MORTAL. 59 

We cannot part her ; they encircle her 
As in a marble fold. 

Andrea. Lovely they were 

And pleasant in their lives, and in their deaths 
They shall not be divided ; bear them thus 
Together to one grave, their bridal bower ! 

[Exeunt. 

MoRELLi. And this is love ! 
Arameth. By the deceiver's smile allured 
Until thy heaven appears secured, 
But ce the first step enters there 
To find, instead of hope, despair ! 
And she who smiled upon thy flame, 
Kindlino' a ra^fe too wild to tame, 
When her delusions all have flown. 
Still smiling, but in scorn alone ! 
Chorus op Spirits. Oh, this is love ! 
Arameth. Or when assured, thy truth returning, 

To thine is linked thy loved one's heart, 
Even in that hour ecstatic, learning 
That destiny commands to part ! 
And in agony awaking 

From the dream of blessedness,' 
Knowing, while thy heart is breaking, 

That her own is wrung no less. 
Chorus. Oh, this is love ! 



60 THE IMM RT A L. 

Arameth. Or when she smiles, and every power 

Smiles with her, and no bar appears ; 
When vision of the nuptial hour 

Thy soul in Paradise inspheres ; 
When joined for ever to become, 

With meeting Hps and blending breath. 
To yield her, in that moment, from 

Thy arms into the arms of death ! 
Chorus. Oh, this is love ! 

Arameth. But hark ! a mortal step is near. 

Enter Adrian and Felicia. 

MoRELLi. Arameth ! 

Arameth. In silence hear, 

And let thy firmness now appear. 

Adrian. Forgive me, my beloved, if in thy 
presence 
Even my hapless friend is scarce remembered, 
Though dear my love to him, and dear shall be 
The vengeance I shall yield him ; but beholding 
My promised Paradise, can I restrain 
My joy from swallowing all emotions else ? 
If heaven should roll its flood of bliss to earth. 
It were too much for our poor nature's weakness 
To stem, and in it we must needs dissolve. 
Let it not thus be with me, prithee, dearest ! 
The joy thy promise gives me has too much 



T H E I M M O R T A L . 61 

Of heaven in it ; then rob me of a httle, 
Or I must die in sooth. 

Felicia. I rather question 

Thou hast such cause. Consider that my promise 
Was not a gift of love, but of impatience ; 
And an extorted promise on occasion 
May be recalled. 

Adrian. Recalled ! 

Felicia. I've thought upon it, 

And find it is my duty to decline 
The acceptance of a hand I do not merit ; 
Nor can I merit thine, as I have not 
A heart to give thee. 

Adrian. Say what have I done 

Worthy of thy displeasure or contempt ? 

Felicia. Nothing, dear Adrian. I well esteem 
you, 
And as a friend and brother love you dearly, 
But never could I love you as a husband 
Should be beloved. In pity to yourself 
And me, I do beseech you but to think me 
A sister. Take your heart again, and give it 
To one who can repay you with her own. 

Adrian. Patience ! — are these my hopes ? Why 
were they suffered 
One moment? 



62 THEIMMORTAL. 

Felicia. Then my heart, although not thine, 
Was not as yet another's. 

Adrian. How ! another's ? 

Is it another's ? But Til find the villain ! 
He bought it with his life ? — revenge ! revenge ! 

[Rushes away. 

Felicia. Nay, I adjure thee ! Well, his madness 
rages 
Without an object, and so does my love. 
Where can he be, the beautiful, majestic, 
And noble stranger ? Was it not a vision ? 
For thus he came and vanished ; and it may be 
A vision that hath past away for ever ! 
But be it as it may, this heart is wedded 
To his dear image, and this hand shall never 
Be any's, if not his. Would I might meet him ! 

[Exit, 

Arameth. Speak, Morelli, wouldst thou not 
Share with her a mortal lot, 
To enjoy the love which she 
Thus, unsought, hath rendered thee ! 
Morelli. How would I revel in that dream of 
heaven, 
But that I know there is no heaven on earth ! 
How strong were the control of love upon me, 



T H E I M M O R T A L . 63 

But that I know far heavier the control 
Of misery o'er mankind. Even if her love 
Could make the every moment of existence 
A perfect joy, what were that joy's remembrance 
When she were torn from me, and hid in the 
grave ? 
Arameth. Fear not living to deplore her ; 

Rather hope to die before her. 
MoRELLi. And leave her wretched ? No ! 
Better than either 
Should mourn a separation, that we never 
Should be united, even to be most blest. 
And were no other motive to dissuade me 
From being a mortal's partner, in the fear 
Of being a mortal's father were enough. 
Arameth. Yes, it might be truly said 
That it were a thing to dread, 
A mortal's father to become. 
If this mortal life were all ; 
But it now is time that from 

Thy mental eyes the film should fall. 
That so darkly shades to thee 
Of mankind the destiny. 
Every mortal sire indeed. 
Oft must for his oflPspring bleed ; 
Oft must broken-hearted mourn 
When they to the grave are borne ; 



64 THEIMMORTAL. 

Or with heavier grief opprest, 
Their existence see unblest ; 
Or exclaim, in anguish far 
More despairing, when they are 
Plunged in infamy and sin, — 
" Better they had never been !" 
The darkest this ; the brightest side 
Should thy observance now divide, 
Which to thee I have not shown 
Hitherto, till thou hast known 
What existence would appear, 
Were indeed its finis here, 
As some fiends in human guise, 
By their damning sophistries, 
Merely to insure their name 
The applause of fools, of heaven the blame, 
To persuade mankind would joy. 
And all comfort thus destroy. 
MoRELLi. Nay, such are not the doubts by which 
my mind 
Is darkened ; not a moment have I questioned 
There is a life to come, and for the good 
A happier ; but observing that the number 
Of such is few, that far the greater part 
Sinning, as suffering here, shall find hereafter 
No end to suffering, how can I but question 
That 't were not better none were ever born. 



THE IM MORT A L. G5 

Even to good, than such a multitude 
To evil. 

Arameth. All are born to pain. 
But none to sin, by which alone 

Bliss they lose and anguish gain, 
For their hereafter ; all are thrown 

Indeed amid temptation's snares, 
But none are there compelled to fall. 

Nor err by any will but theirs ; 
For the power is given to all 
Nobly to win, or basely lose 
The victory o'er them, as they*choose. 
Even we, the sinless, painless race, 
Whose nature thou aspir'st to share. 
May envy that thou scorn'st to bear ; 
Yes, willingly would we embrace 
The evils whence we are exempt. 
And folhes moving our contempt, 

And all would undergo that tries 
Mankind, were but the trial done 
As soon, and then such trophy won, 

A crown immortal in the skies, 

To which we never can arise. 
Here, though oft the parent grieves 
For the pain his child receives, — 
Here though oft the child forlorn 
May curse the hour that he was born. 



66 THEIMMORTAL. 

When on earth their short career 
Is finished, and they shall appear 
Together in the realms of rest, 
Blest the sire shall be most blest, 
To say before the throne divine, 
" Here, my God, am I with mine !" 
In that happy hour the child. 

Deeming all he sustained on earth 
Trifles at which he should have smiled, 

Will bless the hour that gave him birth, 
To dwell amid the angelic choir. 
In delight that palleth never. 
With his sire, and Him, the sire 
Of all, for ever and for ever ! 
MoRELLi. Oh, say no more ! I should have 
thought of this ! 
I have been unwise ! Restore my human nature. 
Restore it, Arameth ! I little care 
What sufferings it may bring me, or how long 
Those sufferings may endure, so that at last 
I may accomplish heaven. My God ! I thank thee 
That I was born a mortal, to become 
A blest immortal ! Pardon me, sweet heaven ! 
That scornful of the nature thou hadst given me, 
I've risked thy dearest blessing ! Oh, restore it ! 
Arameth. Thou canst resume it at thy will, 
But it were better thou shouldst still 



THE IMMORTAL. 67 

Thy superhuman nature keep, 
For before it' is resigned, 

Power it gives thou canst employ, 
Either, for thyself, to reap 

All of earth thou wouldst enjoy, 
Or some to bless among mankind. 
Be careful which thou choosest from 
The occasions that for this shall come, 
For once when thou employ'st this power, . 
It shall forsake thee fiom that hour. 
MoRELLi. I shall employ it well, or if I do not, 
My will is not to blame .> Now, Arameth, 
Convey me whither I may best observe 
Who needs my aidance most. 

Arameth. Extend thy hand. 

Spirits of the rosy gale. 
Let him on your pinions sail. 
Hovering over sea and land. 
Till to pause I give command. 
Ye obey me ? 
Chorus op Spirits. We obey. 
Arameth. Then away ! 
Chorus. Away ! away ! • 



THE IMMORTAL, 



ACT FIFTH. 

Scene — The Garden. 

Andrea enters, meeting Leon with the children of 
Hugo bloody and lifeless in his arms. 

Andrea. Oh, God ! what do I see ? 

Leon. Alas ! my father ! 

A pitiful sight is this ! And my poor brother ! — 
Truly my heart would break, but it becomes not 
Poor sinners to repine at heaven's dispose. 

Andrea. Say, whence this awful chance ? 

Leon. This Httle fellow, 

Happening to brawl about some toy or other 
"With his poor sister, struck her ; this their father 
Observing, struck the boy. Oh, fatal rashness! 
He fell upon the mangling rocks below. 
And she leaped after him as if to save him, 
And perished with him. Why is man the sport 
Of passionate impulse, that forgets itself 
To those most dear ? 

Andrea. Alas ! 



THE I MM O RIAL. 69 

Leon. But yonder comes 

The wretched father. 

Enter Hugo. 

Hugo. I gave but to recall ! Where is their 
mother ? 
She had no share in their death. 

Leon. And haply thou 

As little in their life. 

Hugo. You make me smile, 

Thinking to cheat my madness with a hope 
That — would I were so fooled ! — could I forget 
These children were my own, I were most happy ? 
'T were but a thing to laugh at, had this hand 
Made childless all mankind so it had spared 
My own ; I'd think it dripping in its crimson 
As white as innocence ! Who calls him bloody 
That slaughtered all the innocents of Judea ? 
Was he their father ? 

Leon. In my apprehension 

As much as thou of these. 

Hugo. Fiend ! dare not mock me ! 

Leon. No — I would comfort thee. 

Hugo. Thou comfort me ! 

And what art thou ? 

Andrea. ' Tis true, my son, from man 

No comfort canst thou find, yet heaven can send it. 



VO T H E I M M R T A L . 

Hugo. And will, belike ! But let its angels 
shoot 
To earth, with consolation on their wings, 
Deem you I'll thank them ? Eather will I curse 

them 
That they prevented not what cannot be 
Redeemed by even them ! 

Leon. Thy misery 

Blasphemes. 

Hugo. And I must hush it in submission ? 
And so I will ! However it be questioned, 
These knees can bend ; their sinews are not iron. 
But oh ! my heart ! my heart ! 

Andrea. Unhappy boy ! 

Heaven knows it is thy anguish, not thyself, 
Speaks thus, and heaven forgives thee ! 

Leon. My father, may we not infer 
When one sinks into guilt upon the sudden. 
He may have slipped before ? 

Andrea. And what of this ? 

Leon. Had I a wife who long appeared most true, 
Yet faithless proved at last, might I not think 
She had before deceived me, and her children 
Were none of mine ? 

Andrea. What then ? 

Leon. Why then I question 

Those were my brother's children. 



THE IMMORTAL. 71 

Hugo. Ha ! 

Leon. Tliy wife 

Being now convicted false. 

Hugo. False ? 

Leon. False, by heaven ! 

Hugo. By hell, thou art false thyself ! 

Andrea. Kill not thy brother. 

Hugo. Has he not killed her fame ? 

Leon. I do repent me : 

I spoke too hastily methinks. 

Hugo. Forgive me 

My violence then ; but they were words to make me 
Forget a brother spoke them. 

Leon. My suspicions 

Having no certainty, I did not well 
To utter them. 

Hugo. Oh, speak ! 

Leon. Thou hast enough 

Of sorrow now. 

Hugo. Speak ! Dare no more torment me ! 

Andrea. What means this ? 

Leon. When you hear it, pray 

remember 
That you would hear it. Yet, if I hope rightly, 
No mischief's in it. She may take a ride, 
Meaning no harm, howbeit, by the array 
Of her and her companion, and the speed 



72 THE IMMORTAL. 

Of their dark coursers, it is not unlikely 
The ride may be a far one. 

Hugo. Her companion !— 

Dark coursers ! Darkness ! — devils ! — who was with 
her? 

Leon. The stranger whom our father introduced. 

Hugo. Fled, say you ? — fled ? Marina ! — my 
Marina ! 
Thy Hugo calls thee ! 

Leon. Hers were a good ear 

To know it at this distance. 

Hugo. What is all this ? 

My children murdered, and my wife — my wife — 
What did I hear ? — something about my wife ? 

Leon. Rather a wretch to whom that name is 
forfeit 
By her unworthiness. 

Hugo. And she has fled 

Lest she should see the murderer of her children ? 
Away ! away ! away ! fly from the air 
Polluted with their blood and with my breath! 
Nay, pause not there, for it was there they perished, 
And perished by this hand ! — yes, mine ! — their 

father's ! 
Hast thou no lightnings, heaven ! — has hell no fires, 
This murderous limb to wither ? 

Leon. Other matters 



THE IMMORTAL. 73 

Require thy thoughts, for it will not be long 
Before the stranger's pleasure, or expedience, 
Returns thy wife. 

Hugo. What said you of my wife ? 

But do not answer me — why should you speak 
When these are silent ? They have called me 

''Father P' 
As I remember ! Oh, 't was sweet to hear them ! 
And now they will not speak ! — oh, never ! — never ! 

— never ! 
Their life will not return lest I destroy it 
Again ; it will not fear their mother thus : 
I'll send her to recall it. [Exit. 

Leon. He forgets 

In his poor children's fate his wife's dishonor ; 
For that I blame him not ; the innocent 
Alone are dear, or should be so. No wife 
Lost in this way was ever woi-th the having. 

Enter Adrian and Felicia. 
Adrian. I have been dashed 

From heaven, my father ! My Felicia — mine ? 
Alas ! not mine ! She has recalled the promise 
That blessed me ! Intercede for me, my father ! 
Andrea. Not now — not now ; I am too full of 
sorrow 
To speak of anything. Look there ! 
4 



74 THEIMMORTAL. 

Adrian. Oh, God ! 

My eyes are drowned in blood ! 

Re-enter Hugo. 

Hugo. She will return, 

But not to us ! How will she laugh on the way 
To think of the dear welcome we shall give her ! 
And she will come — to find us in the grave ! 
And she will weep above us ! Can the dead 
Speak words of comfort ? 

Andrea. Would the hving could 

To thee or to myself! 

Leon. I can but say. 

If 'tis the will of heaven, all yet can end well. 

MoRELLi appears. 

MoRELLi. It shall, but not for thee. 

Leon. Behold the villain ! 

Andrea. Seize him ! 

Leon {aside). What charm is this ? My 

arm refuses 
To rise against him ! 

Morelli. I am not the villain 

Ye seek, but can instruct you where to find him. 
Why should the hypocrite exult that all 
His deeds of evil are unseen of men ? 
Fool, to forget that at the bar of heaven 



THE IMMORTAL. 75 

They must be all, before assembled worlds, 
Unveiled in all their darkness. As for thee {to Leon), 
I charge thee here with what thou must acknowledge 
Hereafter. Fearing that she would betray 
The villany thou hadst designed her honor. 
And mad with disappointment, thou hast poisoned 
The innocent Julia. 

Adrian. Is it so ? Speak, villain ! 

Leon. Provoke me, boy ! — you had best ! 
Andrea. Oh, part them ! part them 1 

MoRELLi. Good youth, I pray you leave him to 
the fate 
That heaven ajDpoints him. But before condemned, 

sir. 
Take your own time to coin a vindication 
Ingenious as you please ; you shall be heard, 
But, be assured, I know you. 

Leon (aside). Have I met 

The eyes that mine must shrink from ? Furies 
blast them ! 
Arameth (invisible). Yet, Morelli, hesitate ; 
Were it not better thou shouldst choose 
For thyself thy power to use. 
To make thee wealthy, mighty, great ? 
Lord of kingdoms wouldst thou be ? 
Speak, and they are rendered thee! 



'76 THE IMMORTAL. 

Wouldst thou fortune's floods control ? 

Speak, and at thy feet they roll ! 

Burns thy brow for glory's rays ? 

Speak, and they around thee blaze ! 

Sighest thou for beauty's charms ? 

Speak, and she is in thy arms ! 

All are offered to thy choice, 

Waiting only for thy voice. 
MoRELLi. And I forego them all. I rather choose 
To employ what power I may in blessing others, 
To balm the wounds of sorrow, to redeem 
The innocent from villany's oppression ; 
And even this alone methinks were worth 
The sacrifice of my unearthly nature ; 
For what could that impart me like the pure 
And happy consciousness of being a blessing 
To my afflicted fellow-creatures ? Nothing. 
Arameth. Ask thy heart, and then declare, 

In this choice has love no share ? 
MoRELLi. Let the event reply. Appear ! appear ! 

Arameth appears^ ivith Marina insensible. 

Hugo. Is not that my Marina ? Ha ! I was told. 
But surely it was false ! Oh ! speak to me ! 
Still silent, my Marina ? Her eyes are closed ; 
Is it in sleep or death ? Let it be death ! 



THE IMMORTAL. 77 

Yes, let eternal slumber from her eyes 
Conceal ber children and their murderous father ! 
MoRELLi {to Leon). It pains me, for thy sake, 
thou pitiless fiend, 
That I must dwell with men, since men can darken 
Their nature with such guilt as thine. 

Leon. Guilt, say you ? 

Remember how the good old man, my father. 
With pride has held me up as an example 
Of human virtue. Well ! what have I done ? 
Poisoned a woman ! Why, she was a woman. 
And could tell foolish tales not worth the hearing ; 
My virtue silenced her. What else ? I veiled 
My brother's wife from all inquisitive eyes 
(As I believed), and for a virtuous purpose, 
No doubt ? What think you now of human virtue ? 

Hugo. And thou art innocent, my love ? I 
knew it , 
Guilt has not torn thee from me, but I fear 
Death will ! Ah, heaven ! those eyes, — those dear 

eyes open. 
And smile upon me ! Speak, my sweet Marina ! 
Art thou returned, my love ? 

Marina. My dearest Hugo ! 

But tell me where we are, and who are those ? 

Leon. Aye, who are those ? 

Marina. Merciful heavens ! my children ! 



VS THE IMMORTAL. 

MoRELLi. Say, wouldst thou have them hve ? 

Hugo. How canst thou ask it ? 

Marina. Oh, save them, if thou canst ! 

MoRELLi. There yet is in them 

A particle of hfe, although no power 
Of earth can waken it into a flame, 
Which I, by my unearthly power, will do, 
Though using it, I forfeit. By that power 
I lay this curse upon yon scowling villain ! — 
His next deed, let it be in its intent 
Or good or evil, shall restore your children. 

Leon. Since I have found hypocrisy so faithless, 
ISTo more of sanctity for me ! But do not 
Mistake me ; think not that my voice can shape 
A penitential whine ; or yonder stranger. 
Be what he may, can have a power upon me 
To make me either will your good, or do it. 
Thus I defy him and his power ? 

[Stabs himself. 

Andrea. Oh, horror ! 

Leon. Nay, trouble not yourselves. Haply you 
think 
I am unfit to die, but take my word for it, 
I'm now as well prepared for death as ever 
I can be ; not a moment's penitence 
Could find me, should I live a thousand ages ! 
The world to come — but I've not been the fool 



THE IMMORTAL. 79 

To trouble myself with any tliought of that 
In life, then why in death ? My sword ! — my sword ! 
Death is a sluggard, and I am not willing 
The power of good should sooner overtake me. 
Give me my sword ! — thou wilt not ? Will thy pity 
Bestow the stroke this arm appears too weak for ? 
MoRELLi. Ye spirits by whom 
Was given the bloom 
Unearthly I wear ; 
Recalling my doom 
To earth and the tomb, 
Who raised me to share 
Your dwellings of air ; 
In this the last hour 
I partake of your power, — 
Let my power with your highest and freest compare. 
Be this weapon in my hand. 
Holy as an angel's wand ; 
Be the dripping guilty blood 
Like the consecrated flood 
That in Paradise is flowing, 
Life, where'er it strays, bestowing. 
Now, ye hving, lifeless two, 
I sprinkle ye with bloody dew. 
By every drop upon you falling, 
The spirit in it? flight recalling. 



80 THEIMMORTAL. 

Now it is returning fast — 

Now 't is come ! — the spell is past — 

Yet his triumph to avow, 
Death will meet us all at last ! 

You and I are mortal now ! 

(The children start to th& embrace of their parents.) 

Leon. I care not what ye are, but make no 
question 
That I am mortal. Could I in the grave 
Behold one curse accomplished, I'd bequeathe you 
A thousand ; but no matter. My good father, 
A word with thee. Thy fatherly affection 
Haply may give my grave a stone inscribed, 
" Erected by the most bereaved of fathers 
To the most excellent of sons." Remember 
To add a line, which in my commendation 
Shall say thus much, — though not her faithful 

servant 
In life, I'd more to do with truth in death 
Than, or in life or death, full many a saint 
Whose dying speeches have been chronicled 
For others to repeat on the occasion. 
Adieu ! forget me not ? [Dies, 

Andrea. Oh, God of heaven ! 



THE IMMORTAL. 81 

MoRELLi. Be not so agonized ! While these are 
happy, 
As they deserve to be, joy in their joy, 
And be that wretch forgotten ! 

Andrea. Can he be 

Forgiven ? 

MoRELLi {to Felicia). Lady, most fair thou art, 
and I beheve 
Most excellent, and worth the sacrifice 
Of all accounted high, save the approval 
Of conscience and of heaven, whose condemnation 
"Were merited, if, even for thy possession, 
I should inflict upon a fellow creature 
The agonies to which the loss of thee 
Would doom this youth. His love is not unworthy 
A recompense. As I unite your hands 
May heaven unite your hearts ! 

Adrian. Thou generous being, 

Is it sin to worship thee ? 

Morelli. How blest I feel ! 

How glad I am that I have rather chosen 
The privilege of doing good to others. 
Than all presented for my own advantage ! 
Now, Arameth ! 

Arameth. This choice of thine 

Upon thee calls the smile divine 
4^- 



82 THE IMMORTAL. 

Of Him above, who wills to thee 
A recompense that cannot be 
Accorded by this world or mine. 
The bloom, the vigor, and the pride 

Of youth, which in thy age thou wearest, 
By age like thine has been denied 

To all of earth, though once its fairest : 
And thee no longer must I save 

From the decree on mortals spoken ; 
To time's corruption and the grave 

Earth calls thee back. The spell is broken. 

(MoRELLi falls on the ground as an old man in 
extreme decrepitude.) 

Arameth. Know ye not, ye sons of earth, 
That for death ye have your birth ? 
That your Maker placed you here 
But to seek a better sphere, 
Which attained, will be forgot 
All the ills of mortal lot. 
Care not then if o'er your path 
Hover fortune's smile or wrath, 
But alike, through good and ill. 
Onward, heavenward, struggle still. 
Thou, Morelli, thou hast known 
It is mercy's doom alone 



THEIM MORTAL. 83 

Sends the angel of the grave, 

From the ills of life to save. 

Dreader could no curse appear 

Than to be immortal here, 

Or in any world, save where 

Angels bliss eternal share ; 

Now to dwell with them arise, 

Be immortal in the skies ! 

Give thy body to the sod, 

Give thy spirit to its God ! 
Chorus of Spirits. Give thy body to the sod, 

Give thy spirit to its God ! 
Arameth. Now 't is done ! On angel wings 

Forth the bright immortal springs ! 

Mortals, would ye follow him 

To the blessed cherubim ? 

Love your Maker and mankind. 

And the path to heaven ye find. 

Here your life was only given 

That ye thus might seek for heaven ; 

Here death cometh but to bear 

The delivered spirit there. 



END OF the immortal, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



MPSCELLANEOUS POEMS. 87 



TO MY WIFE. 



The winds of March are loose again, 

And, shrinking from the piercing air, 
I shudder at the thought of pain 

That I have borne, and yet may bear ; 
But while the scenes return to view, 

Which seemed to be my last on earth, 
Returns the heavenly picture too 

Of all thy love, and all thy worth ! 

Thy matchless love, that bore thee up 

Through trials few have heart to brave ; 
That shrank not from the bitter cup 

Of anguish, which my anguish gave ; 
That, while thy noble heart was wrung 

With pity, tenderness, and grief, 
Still o'er my couch of suffering hung. 

To give me comfort and rehef. 



88 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

A common love might weep and sigh, 

To spare its grief, my presence shun, 
And in its weakness let me die. 

Lamented much, but aided none ; 
Thy nobler nature rose above 

All trials, so they gave me aid. 
And on the altar of thy love 

Thy heart a sacrifice was laid. 

Thy sighs were hushed, thy tears supprest, 

Lest I thy sorrow should divine ; 
Thy eyes refused their needful rest, 

To watch the fitful sleep of mine : 
No sharer in a task so dear 

And sacred would thy love allow ; 
By day and night, still hovering near, 

My " Ministering- Angel " thou ! 

Thou wast my dearest hope on earth 

Since first I met thy welcome sight ; 
But never had I known thy worth 

'Till in affliction's darkest night. 
Oh, then thy peerless goodness shone, 

A star amid the gloom profound. 
Dispersed the clouds above me thrown, 

And scattered heavenly radiance round. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 89 

The God of mercy heard thy prayer, 

When hope itself receded fast, 
And gave to thy unwearied care 

The hfe that seemed already past ; 
That life I ever would employ 

To bless thee, and thy love repay — 
To give thee comfort, peace, and joy. 

To be thy friend, thy shield, thy stay. 

I will not at the past repine, 

Though the remembrance wakes a sigh — 
To know the worth of love like thine 

'Twere well to suffer or to die ! 
But ah ! at once its worth to know 

And to enjoy its fulness, live ! 
No greater favor heaven can show, 

And earth has nothing more to give. 



90 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



SHE CALLS ME FATHER 



She calls me " father !" — though my ear 

That thrilling name shall never hear, 

Yet to my heart affection brings 

The sound in sweet imaginings ; 

I feel its gushing music roll 

The stream of rapture on my soul ; 

And when she starts to welcome me, 

And when she totters to my knee, 

And when she climbs it to embrace 

My bosom for a hiding-place, 

And when she nestling there reclines, 

And with her arms my neck entwines, 

And when her lips of roses seek 

To press their sweetness on my cheek, 

Or when upon my careful breast 

I lull her to her cherub rest, 

The heart to which I hold my dove 

Swells with unutterable love ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 91 



A FATHER'S DIRGE. 

My hopes are blighted, and I feel 
An anguish I may not reveal ; 

And fain I would retire apart 
Where common eyes may not intrude, 
Who care not for the sanctitude 
Of sorrow in a father's heart. 
But I have duties to perform 

To others, who have claims as strong, 
And still must struggle with the storm 

Of hfe, amid the careless throng ; 
And veil the secret of my breast 
With smile for smile, and jest for jest. 
While fain I would sit down and rest 

Beside my darling's clay ! 
Yes — for my wife's and children's sake, 
I'll bid my energies awake. 
And nerve the heart that swells to break, 
To be their shield and stay. 

But, oh ! the sorrow, when I come 
From weary work to lonely home. 



92 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

To miss that face, whose pleasant sight 
Gave to that home a heavenly light ! 
At hour of rest, how sad to miss 
The comfort of her parting kiss ! 
And every morning when I wake 
This lonely heart is nigh to break, 
For ever when I rose from sleep. 

Beside me smiled her cherub face, 
And close and closer she would creep 

To nestle in my heart's embrace ! 
But now at every wonted spot 
I seek her, and I find her not ; 
Save that at times before my eyes 
Distempered fancy bids her rise 
As last I saw her, night and day 
Gasping her little life away ! 
And then my anguish and despair 
Become too terrible to bear ! 

Yet, my beloved ! though I must mourn, 

And nothing can my grief beguile, 
I should rejoice that thou wast born 

To bless me, though but for a while. 
The love that hghtened up thy eyes, 

And smiled on thy angelic face, 
"Was such a glimpse of Paradise, 

As, though but for a little space, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

A sacred influence has left 
Of which we cannot be bereft, 
And tells us what the heavens must be 
That for a moment lent us thee, 
And fires our zeal to persevere 
To meet thee in that better sphere, 
Where yet we trust redeemed to stand, 
And lead our darhng by the hand, 
Thou best of all our hearts held dear ! 

If thou canst see us from above, 
At last thou knowest all the love, 

Nor words nor tears could tell ; 
Thou readest in thy father's heart. 
Of which thou wast the dearest part, 

A love unspeakable ! 
And thou dost love me, my sweet child. 
And thy affections from the skies 
Come down to bless me, till I rise 
To meet them, pure and undefiled ; 
Oh, let me then be reconciled. 
And conquer passion's bitterness, 

For why should we deplore 
That earth has now one sufferer less, 

And heaven one angel more ! 
The sun rose glorious on thy birth, 

As if he welcomed thee to day. 



94 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And shone as glorious, when to earth 
We gave thy cold unconscious clay. 
I saw him on his noonday throne, 

In summer's proudest hour. 
And thought, of all he looked upon, 

Thou wast the fairest flower ! 
Where art thou now ? 

JSTay, it is weak, 
' Tis wrong, that gloomy grave to seek !- 
Let Faith and Hope unveil the skies 
A moment to affection's eyes ! 
Look up, my soul ! and there behold 
A heavenly form with locks of gold, 
That shade a brow divinely bright, 
And float upon her wings of light ; 
All Paradise is in her face, 
And in her smile celestial grace ; 
She looks upon us from above 
With pity and undying love, 
And gently beckons to her home — 
I come, my Anna ! — soon I come ! 
And till we meet, will strive and pray 
To keep upon the only way, 
Nor more repine that thou dost rest 
Upon a Heavenly Father's breast ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 95 



THE WATCHES OF THE NIGHT. 



In the watches of the night, 

When the world is hushed to sleep, 

Comes my anguish strong and deep, 
Like a torrent at its height. 
Rushing with resistless might. 

Every barrier down to sweep ; 
Parts the darkness like a veil, 

And reveals my dying dove. 
With her patient ff^ ^ and pale, 

And her sweet bk. eyes of love. 
Sadly looking into mine, 
Till they every look resign. 
Now returns the scene of death — 
Slowly gasps away her breath ; 
Now the lips that were my bliss 
Move as for a parting kiss ; 
Now she gives a feeble start, 
As to nestle to my heart ! 



96 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

How its breaking fibres thrill ! 
All is over ! — from my sight 
Fades the vision of the night, 

And the night is darker still ! 

Day returns — thou swelling breast, 
Hush ! and hide thy sacred guest ! 

Forth into the world I go — 
Hollow laugh and ribald jest 

Round me bandy to and fro ; 
And I look and list the while 
With a forced and feeble smile, 

Bitter mockery of woe ! 
Common talk of common things. 
Like the buzz of insect wings. 
Brushes o'er my weary mind. 
And I answer in some kind. 

What I hardly care or know. 

Nay, my soul, this is not well ! 

Rouse thee from thy stern despair, 
Crush the thoughts that would rebel, 

Nobly bear what thou must bear ! 
Leave it to the common crew 

In their sorrow to be weak ; — 

In the might of anguish seek 
Might to bear and might to do ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 97 

Gather up thy inmost strength — 

To some earnest task apply ; 
So shalt thou escape at length 

Thoughts that else would bid me die ! 

Thou from whom all blessings came ! 
Thou who dost at will reclaim ! 
Thou who the Great Father art, 
And in every parent's breast 
Strongest feelings hast imprest, 
Sweetest, purest, holiest, 
Yet canst rend a parent's heart, 
Snapping all its links apart ! 

Thou who didst the boon bestow. 
Once my comfort, hope, and pride, 

Yet removed it at a blow — 
May that blow be sanctified ! 
Though my heart is sorely tried — 

Though my hopes are in the dust, 
In thy wisdom I confide. 

In thy boundless mercy trust ! 



98 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



MY BOY 



My boy ! my boy ! what hopes and fears 
Are prophets of thy future years ! 
How many smiles — how many tears 

Shall ghsten o'er this face ! 
This eye, so innocently bright, 
May kindle with a wilder light. 

In pleasure's maddening chase : 
This brow, where quiet fancies lie. 
May proudly lift itself on high, 

In fierce ambition's race ; 
This form, so beautiful, so blithe. 
May waste in sickness, or may writhe 

In agony's embrace ; 
This cheek may lose its healthful blush, 
For sorrow's languor, passion's flush. 

Or thought's corrosive trace ; — 
But of all evils that may come. 
My prayer the most would shield thee from 

The guilty or the base. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 99 

Thy heritage is but my name ; 
Then prize its purity of fame, 

And shield it from disgrace ; 
And if that name have some renown, 
May it be thine a brighter crown 

Upon it yet to place ! 
For should a prouder wreath be thine 
Than ever was or shall be mine. 

The more will be my joy — 
The vanity of fame I've found ; 
Still could I wish its laurels crowned, 

My boy ! my only boy ! 

And yet, should genius never roll 
Its inspiration on thy soul. 

Nor gift thee with the might 
To image such creations forth 
As crown " the Minstrel of the North,"* 

Imperishably bright ; 
Or with a Shakspeare's Muse of fire 
Up to the highest heaven aspire. 

The sun of every sight — 
If science shall not in thy mind 
Unfold a beacon to mankind, 

Amid the mental night ; 

* Walter Scott. . 



100 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Or if tliy arm shall never wield 
A hero's sword, on conquest's field, 

To guard thy country's right — 
If all the glorious hopes be vain 
That often float athwart my brain 

In visions of delight — 
Still thou as fully canst complete 
The hope — of all most dear and sweet 

That may my mind employ — 
All other wreaths I can resign, 
So virtue's trophies may be thine. 

My boy ! my only boy ! 



THE CHARMS OF WOMAN 

The glittering stars we admire. 

And the sun on his throne in the skies ; 
And we worship the lovelier fire 

That sparkles in woman's sweet eyes ; 
The bloom of the flourishing roses 

Dehght to the eyes can impart, 
And the bloom that dear woman discloses 

Has far more delight for the heart. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 101 

How sweetly the zephyrs are throwing 

The fragrance they snatch from the flowers ! 
How sweeter the breath that is flowing 

From the pure hps of woman to ours ! 
Whatever around thee thou meetest, 

The spell of delight that can lend, 
The brightest, the fairest, the sweetest, 

In woman far lovelier blend. 

Her eyes have a heavenly splendor. 

But if virtue have kindled its star 
In her soul, its resplendence will lend her 

A light that is lovelier far ! 
Her breath has a sweetness when blending 

With ours in the pure kiss of love ; 
Far sweeter that breath when ascending 

In prayer to her Maker above. 

When in one all the charms are united 

On the soul and the senses that steal. 
When we gaze on her softness dehghted. 

Or when to her brightness we kneel. 
However those beauties may ravish. 

And fetter the soul and the eyes, 
Not on them all our thoughts should we lavish, 

But spare one, at least, for the skies. 



102 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

If the light of her eyes we adn)ire, 

Oh, what is the glory of Hj'm, 
From whom heaven's eyes had the fire, 

To which even beauty's were dim ! 
Who the blaze to Apollo has given, 

"Which the stars to behold cannot bear ! 
What splendor on earth or in heaven 

Can with its Creator's compare ? 

If all the creation discloses 

Such beauty our homage to claim. 
How awful a beauty reposes 

On the brow of the God whence it came ! 
When woman upon you has laid her 

Control, while you love and adore, 
Oh, think of the Being who made her. 

And love him and worship him more ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 103 



To MRS. MARY B. 

ON HER BIRTHDAY. 

Lady ! tliy friends may well unite 

To hail the hour that gave thee birth ; 

For it might seem a child of light 

That moment came from heaven to earth. 

I speak not of the form or face, 

Though both might claim the poet's song ; 
With every charm of beauty's grace, 

Diviner charms to thee belong. 

The sense of duty, pure and high. 
Which gives the orphans in thy care 

All that a mother can supply, 

And in thy heart an equal share : 

True friendship that can never fade. 

Affection won by manly worth. 
Which well bestowed, and well repaid, 

Can make a Paradise on earth. 



104 MI.SCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Good humor's smile, for ever bright, 
That casts a sunshine all around, 

Truth in her spotless robe of light. 
And virtue hke a seraph crowned ! 

These are the charms that most express 

A mind with more of heaven than earth- 
Friends, husband, children, all may bless 
The auspicious hour that gave it birth ! 



A VALENTINE TO MY WIFE, 

Twelve years ago ! how swift their flight. 
Since first thy fate was linked with mine ! 

How much they brought of dark or bright 
To crown thy love, or prove its might, 
My faithful Valentine ! 

Twelve years ago, my chosen bride ! 

How proud was I to call thee mine ! 
But more my love, and more my pride, 

Since years on years thy worth have tried. 
My precious Valentine ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 105 

It may be sorrow and despair 

At times have wrung tliis heart of mine ; 
But to thy love I could repair, 
And find my peace and solace there, • 

My sweetest Valentine ! 

And every joy that I may know. 

When kinder fortune seems to shine, 

Wins from thy smile a brighter glow — 

To see thee happy makes me so, 
My dearest Valentine ! 

Sweet mother of the cherub boy. 

Round whom our fondest hopes entwine ! 

May he his coming years employ 

To be thy comfort, pride, and joy, 
And bless my Valentine ! 



106 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



MY LITTLE FRIEND. 

" OF SUCH IS THE KINaDOM OF HEAVEN." 

Often while I sit apart 
Comes a yearning of the heart, 
With a sense of lonehness 
Hard to bear or to express ; 
Then of ill-repaid affections 
Throng the saddest recollections, 
And of friends I used to know 
Till the hour to prove them so ! 
Friendship then a fable seems, 
Love, the most absurd of dreams. 

Thus I sit and muse alone — 

Sudden comes a fairy face, 
Dimpling with a smile divine ; 
Glides a tiny hand in mine. 
And a little arm is thrown 

Round my neck with winning grace 
And a pair of sweet blue eyes 
Look in mine with quaint surprise. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 107 

And a lip of roses pouts 

In assurance of a kiss — 
Care be hanged ! — away witli doubts ! 

Love is truth ! — and life is bliss ! 

Potent as the harp divine, 

David played to moody Saul, 
Comes her spirit upon mine, 

When of gloom the saddest thrall, 
And away the shadows run, 
Like the clouds before the sun ! 
Blessings on the little fairy 

Whose affections, frank and artless, 

Prove the world not wholly heartless ! — 
Thou wilt not forsake me, Mary ! 



108 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



A HUNDRED YEARS FROM NOW. 

What millions live to-day 
As tliey might ever stay, 
How soon to pass away ! 

Sweet face and lofty brow, 
So pleasant now to see — 
Alas ! where will they be 

A hmidred years from now ? 

The sage with silver hair, 
Proud youth and maiden fair, 
Time will not pause to spare — 

Glad childhood's sunny brow, 
The infant's dimpling face — 
All gone without a trace, 

A hundred years from now ! 

The ills we scarce sustain. 
The trouble and the pain 
That vex the heart and brain, 



MISCELLANEOUS TOE MS. 109 

And wring the calmest brow — 
All, serious as they seem, 
Fade, a forgotten dream, 
A hundred years from now ! 

The time seems far away. 
Yet will not long delay ; 
It comes with every day 

That goes, we know not how ! 
Howe'er thy lot be cast, 
'T is all the same at last, 

A hundred years from now. 

In all but this the same — 
Some few may leave a name, 
A monument of fame 

That time shall never bow, 
Or heavenly-thoughted page. 
To consecrate our age 

A hundred years from now ! 



110 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



AMBITION. 

ADDRESSED TO MY SON. 

When I was young, my noble boy ! 

Ambition filled my ardent mind ; 
I thought I could my powers employ 

To be a blessing to mankind. 
Statesman or hero, bard or sage, 

I thought I might achieve a name 
To stand the glory of the age, 

And flourish in immortal fame. 
Romantic dreams ! how swift they fled, 

Dispersed in even childhood's day ! 
In every path I wished to tread 

Misfortune sternly barred the way ! 
Some little good I may have wrought, 

And penned some not inglorious songs ; 
But opened no new worlds of thought, 

Nor saved a people from their wrongs. 
Thou too wilt own ambition's sway : — 

No matter so it prompt no sin — 
I care not if its voice should say, 

Be all thy father should have been ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Ill 

Ambition is of various kinds, 

And even in tlie child proclaims 
The cast of great or common minds, 

According to its various aims. 
Some place in dress their only pride. 

While some aflfect a ruffian air, 
Some aim at most to dance or ride, 

Or on the stage to rant and swear ; 
Some with ambition meaner still. 

Their honor seek in deeds of shame, 
For virtue choose the worst of ill. 

The worst of names their proudest name ! 
Such fancies sway the vulgar breast. 

And may become the fools at least. 
Who think that man was made at best 

To be partaker with the beast ! 
But those to whom the Lord hath given 

A portion of the spark divine, 
May tread on earth — but look to heaven — 

And more and more their souls refine ! 

My son ! to wisdom give thy heart ! 

Improve thy God-imparted mind ! 
The mind is our celestial part. 

More heavenly as the more refined ! 
Employ thy thoughts on nobler things 

Than those that with the body die ! 



112 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Mount thy ambition on the wings 
Of virtue that ascends the sky ! 

So shall thy soul, while yet confined 
To earth, its heavenly kindred claim, 

And thou shalt move among mankind, 
An angel in a mortal frame. 



MY DARLING LITTLE MARY 

When childhood shall have flown away, 

And youth its bloom shall lend thee. 
May all the bliss of childhood's day 

And innocence attend thee ; 
Nor may a heart so pure and blest 

For guilt or sorrow vary, 
That now are strangers to thy bi'east. 

My darling little Mary. 

When beauty's glow is on thee thrown. 

May it be thy endeavor 
Not outward charms to win alone, 

But those that perish never ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 113 

Since all the charms that meet the eye 

Are not more bright than airy, 
Be thine the charms that ne\'er die, 

My darling little Mary ! 

On earth may Mary long repay 

The fondness of a mother, 
And from this world when called away 

By death to seek another, 
May angels her pure spirit bear 

To bliss that cannot vary, 
And may a mother welcome there 

Her darling little Mary ! 



THE MOTHER'S PRIDE. 

Yes, she is beautiful indeed ! 

The soft blue eyes, the raven hair. 
The brow where pleasant thoughts we read, 

The radiant smile, the winning air. 



114 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

The clierub form of perfect grace, 
Whose fairy steps in music glide — 

And oh ! that sweet, that heavenly face ! 
Well may she be her mother's pride ! 

Yet may she nobler pride awake 

Than all external charms impart ; 
'T is not alone for beauty's sake 

We hold her in our inmost heart — 
Her sunny soul, her spotless mind. 

Where comes no thought to shun or hide, 
Her artless love, her feelings kind. 

Have made her more her mother's pride. 

Then come to me, my cherished child, 

And, bending o'er my shoulder, fling 
Thy raven tresses, rolling wild. 

In many a soft and sunny ring ! 
Look up in fondness to my face. 

And thine upon my bosom hide, — 
Close — closer, to my heart's embrace, 

My sweetest joy ! — my fondest pride ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 115 



THE POWER OF AFFECTION 

The world is full of pain and harm, 
And life at best is little worth, 

Yet pure affection is a charm 

That ahuost makes a heaven of earth. 

'T is true we often find it frail 

And transient as a morning flower ; 

Yet, for a time, it can prevail 

Where helpless every earthher power. 

If even she whose welcome love 

Once saved me from the worst of care, 

Should like the rest forgetful prove. 
And leave me to my soul's despair, — 

Still the impression of the past 
Will comfort many a lonely hour. 

And still the sweet remembrance last 
Like frasfrance of a faded flower ! 



116 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

But no ! — whoever may forsake, 

To doubt my cherub were unjust ! — 

Come, darling ! to my heart, and take 
Its perfect love and perfect trust ! 



THE RINGLET. 

Though to thee this little tress 
Brings no thought of loveliness, 
Nothing that my eye can meet 
For that eye hath charm as sweet ; 
Nor such witchery is spread 
By the locks on beauty's head ; 
Whether their dishevelled dance 
Floats in wild luxuriance. 
Or their gently waving rings 
Fall in sunny ghstenings ; 
Or in their ambrosial wreath 
Violets and roses breathe ; 
Or in regal band controlled. 
They entwine with gems and gold — 
Whether, their light clusters through, 
Peeps the laughing eye of blue ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 117 

Or the shade of raven wing, 
O'er the eye of night the}^ fling. 
Know, if thou wouldst have me tell 
Whence it hath derived a spell. 
Far all other charms above — 
'T was her first fond gift of love. 



MY LOVE LOVES ME. 

Oh, there is a song that the young heart sings 
That forth in a fountain of music springs. 
As fresh as the dance of the streams set free ; — 
" I love my love, and my love loves me !" 

Sweetest and dearest, fondest and best, 
While with thy presence no longer blest. 
My heart murmurs o'er, as it strays to thee, 
" I love my love, and my love loves me !" 

And thou, my beloved, when 1 leave thy sight, 
It soothes me to think that thou wilt delight 
To murmur the song I taught to thee, 
" I love my love, and my love loves me." 



118 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

We had not the pleasures to others known ; 
A better, a dearer, is ours alone. 
To whisper our hearts in their secret glee, 
" I love my love, and my love loves me !" 

And oh ! when again I welcome thy face — 
When again I clasp thee in fond embrace, 
To me wilt thou whisper, and I to thee, — 
" I love my love, and my love loves me !" 



BROKEN TIES. 

Go — I from my soul disclaim thee ; 
Mine I never more shall name thee ; 
By the love that thou hast slighted, 
By the joy that thou hast blighted. 
By the fairy visions vanished, 
Ingrate, go ! for ever banished ! 

By the promise vainly spoken. 
By the heart thou wouldst have broken. 
Did not strength of soul sustain me 
That I mourn not, but disdain thee, — 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 119 

Go, for ever from me driven ! — 
Go, forgotten — not forgiven ! 

When thou findest all around thee 
Faithless, worthless, as I found thee, 
Thou shalt learn the worth to measure 
Of the heart thou wouldst not treasure ; 
But in vain thy soul's repentance, 
Irrevocable the sentence — 
Go, for ever, from me driven ! — 
Go, forgotten ! — not forgiven ! 



THE BATTLE OF THE SNAKES. 

AN EPISTLE TO CATHARINE. 

Dear Kate — more dear than I can tell ! 
No matter, though — you know it well — 
Dear Kate — in this delicious weather, 
I wish, don't you ? we were together ; 
That we might wander, hand in hand, 
Amid those scenes of fairy land, 



120 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Whicli now, to glad tliy vision, rise 
And fancy pictures to my eyes ! 
To climb the hills, the woods explore, 
Or ramble by the sea-beat shore, 
Where ringing waves delight thy ear 
With music mine shall never hear : 
Or rove where sweetest flowers embower 
My pretty Kate, " a sweeter flower !" 
While balmy zephyrs kiss thy brow 
Of beauty — (might I kiss it now !) 

'Mid scenes like these, one summer's day, 
A lordly serpent wound his way ; 
From Ratler's hne of length he came, 
And gloried in a tail of fame ; 
His pointed tongue, his sparkling eyes. 
His gorgeous robe of thousand dyes — 
All these with rapture swelled his hide. 
For snakes, like other fools, have pride. 

While winding through a tangled brake. 
He chanced to meet another snake. 
Who wore a suit of sober black. 
Which might become a doctor's back, 
And, coiled in many a ring, reclined, 
While thoughts as coiled perplexed his mind. 

" Good parson Black ! ah, is it you ?" 
Quoth flippant Rattle, "How d'ye do?" 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 121 

" I'm pretty well, I thank you, sir." 
" How's Mrs. Black ?" " All's well with her." 
" How are the little dears ?" " So so ; 
The youngest has been ailing though." 
"How go the times ?" " Oh, very bad !" 
Sighed Black ; " the times are truly sad. 
Which plunges me in deep dejection, 
And makes me ask in sage reflection. 
Why all that is beneath the skies. 
Is what it is — not otherwise ! 
Why Providence, by strange mistakes, 
Instead of men, has made us snakes ; 
Why we are born — and wherefore die — 

Why " "Fool !" quoth Rattle, "care not why! 

He who himself will wretched make 
Deserves the hiss of every snake. 
Enough for us that all on earth 
Is full of beauty, life, and mirth ; 
While of its joys I have a share, 
I care not who may cherish care — 
Mine be the maxim wise and just : 
' Live while you live, die when you must 1' " 
" Then die this moment !" Black exclaimed. 
With foaming lip and eye inflamed. 
At this the other shook his rattle, 
To sound the stirring charge to battle. 
6 



122 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

So fiercely tliey together flew, 
They bit each other right in two. 
Quoth Black, " I beg a truce, my friend, 
To ponder on my latter end !" 
So each in different windings past, 
To seek his tail, and fix it fast ; 
But in their hurry, by mistake, 
Black got the tail of Rattlesnake, 
And Rattle to himself did tack, 
Unwittingly the tail of Black. 

Now Rattle fiercely shook the tail 
He thought his own, without avail, 
To wake the sound once wont to be 
His " earthquake voice of victory !" 
Now right, now left, he lashed the ground, 
But, burn the tail ! it gave no sound ! 
He swings it left, he swings it right — 
In vain, poor Rattle bursts with spite. 

Black, for his part, had run away ! 
But, as he runs, to his dismay. 
Loud from his tail a rattle peals. 
As if the foe were at his heels. 
More fast he runs, more loud it rings, 
And louder, as he faster springs : 
He runs for six successive suns, 
And still it rattles as he runs : 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 123 

He runs and runs till out of breath, 
And then the rattle sleeps in death. 

You say this story can't be true — 
Dear Kate, I quite agree with you ! 
But now that I must say farewell, 
One little word of truth I'll tell ; 
And well you know I speak sincerely, 
In saying, " Kate^ I love you dearly /" 

POSTSCRIPT. Some say they are not able 

To see the moral of my fable ! 

Inform them, had the snakes been wise, 

'T is like they would have used their eyes ! 

And secondly, it hence appears. 

Our eyes are better than our ears ; 

From which reflection I contrive 

Some consolation to derive ; 

For though I oft have sighed, my dear. 

That it is not for me to hear 

The thrilling music of thy voice, 

That would my very heart rejoice : 

Yet when my arm is round thee wreathing. 

And on thy brow my lip is breathing. 

When thy dear head my hand caresses, 

Or wreathes among thy raven tresses. 

Or clasps in mine thy fairy fingers, 

While fond my look upon thee lingers, 



124 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Then, while emparadised, I trace 
Affection breathing from thy face — 
Oh, then I feel in deep delight. 
There is a music for the sight ! 
"Which I would not exchange for all 
That ever on the ear may fall. 



MY PRETTY BIRDS. 

My pretty birds, as sweet your song. 

And of as blithesome kind, 
As when you winged your flight along 

By but the skies confined ; 
Though severed from your native bowers. 

And caged in narrow space. 
As gay ye carol through your hours 

As in your native place. 

And grateful to the tender hand 
That watches o'er your need. 

Your little hearts with love expand, 
While from that hand ve feed : 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 125 

And this is well — ye need not mourn 

The scenes that ye have lost, 
For there the pangs ye might have borne 

Of famine or of frost. 

But man less wise — restrained from ill 

By the Almighty's bars, 
The rage to have his erring will 

His spirit's music jars. 
My birds, my sweet philosophers, 

May I your wisdom learn, 
And welcoming what God confers. 

To His protection turn. 



TOONE REMEMBERED STILL 

How oft shall memory's glance be cast 
To the lovely eve when I met thee last ! 
No star was seen in the silver sky, 
And the moon was hid from mortal eye. 
And the sun had gone to his briny bed. 
Yet a beautiful light upon earth was shed, 



126 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

For the gloom of eve had a softened ray- 
Reflected from the departing day ; 
And I said in my heart, as I marked how tender 
A hght had succeeded the vanished splendor, 
" May a beam as soft — as calm — and as sweet, 
Illumine thy lot till again we meet !" 

As my fingers twined in thy locks of gold 

Adown thy neck of ivory rolled, 

And I saw thy blue eyes, fixed on mine, 

In soft and artless tenderness shine, 

And I pressed in mine thy dear, dear hand, 

My feelings I could not well command. 

But I turned my head to hide the tear 

At the thought of parting with one so dear, 

And I felt that there was no pang above 

The pang inflicted on parting love ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 12*7 



MY BLUE-EYED MATD. 

WRITTEN AT THE AGE OF FOURTEEN 

Forget me not, my blue-eyed maid, 

When fate our parting shall decree ! 
My love may never be repaid, 

But still, oh, still remember me ! 
Thy image, in my heart enshrined. 

In death's embrace alone shall fade ; 
When I am in his arms recHned, 

Forget me not, my blue-eyed maid ! 

If on tlio monumental stone 

The name of one thou chance to see. 
Whose heart was thine, and thine alone, 

Oh then, my love, remember me. 
As one that were supremely blest 

His life before thee to have laid, 
Could that insure his last request. 

Forget me not, my blue-eyed maid ! 



128 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



TO MY FRIEND, R. B. 

The only Paradise on earth 
Is found at the domestic hearth, 
When on the ano-el wino-s of love 
The bliss of heaven comes from above ; 
Not that vain love scarce worth the name, 
Whose only light is passion's flame, 
But love unfading, pure, refined, 
Whose throne of beauty is the mind, 
Where soul communes with kindred soul, 
And heart replies to heart's control ! 
Truth, virtue, honor, faith sincere, 
Like guardian angels hover near. 
And build love's altar on a rock 
Superior to misfortune's shock ; 
Nor time, nor change, can ever blight 
One spark of its celestial light. 

But none this Paradise can find, 
Save one who bears a ])olished mind, 
A noble heart, a liberal hand 
And all that may esteem command. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 129 

Then highly may I prize thy worth, 
Since thine this Paradise on earth ! 
And if the prayer of friendship aid, 
That Paradise shall never fade. 



WHAT SHOULD WE DO, MY BROTHER? 

Where pleasant fields are growing. 

Where rocks are tossed on high. 
Where streams in music flowing. 

Delight the ear and eye, 
Where rivalling each other. 

Fair scenes invite our choice, 
What should we do, my brother 1 

Rejoice ! we should rejoice ! 

Where woods in tangled wildness 

Oppose our weary way. 
Where bowers in shady mildness 

Invite a sweet delay. 
Where wild birds to each other 

Their blithesome carols voice, 
What should we do, my brother ? 

Rejoice ! we should rejoice ! 
6* 



130 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

When slowly home returning, 

While moonlight's golden streams 
Refresh the brow still burning 

With day's departing beams, 
While cheering on each other 

With songs of merry voice, 
What should we do, my brother ? 

Rejoice ! we should rejoice ! 



THE GRAVE OF MARY. 

WRITTEN AT THE AGE OF FIFTEEN. 

Far, far from this grave be the footstep unholy, 

Its sanctity that would presume to invade, 
By all who approach it, with reverence lowly. 

May homage to virtue and beauty be paid, — 
To virtue and beauty, that almost had made her 

On earth what they now have quite made her in 
heaven ; 
For the seraphic charms in this world that arrayed 
her 

To wither as soon as they bloomed were not given ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 131 

Ah, no ! they were only transplanted again 

To shine in the glorious world whence they came, 

Where nothing of earth or corruption shall stain, 
Their splendors on high that eternally flame 1 

My Mary ! my love ! art thou hovering near, 

To look upon him o'er thy dust who is kneehng, 
While wrung from his bosom, full many a tear, 

To water the grave of my Mary is stealing ? 
While o'er thee in passionate agony bending, 

I fondly would think from the regions above, 
Thy spirit I see in its beauty descending, 

To calm my wild anguish for Mary and love ! 



THE PEARL-HANDLED KNIFE. 

A LITTLE boy sits by his mother's tomb, 
And waters the flowers that above her bloom 
With tears that flow from his orphaned heart, 
Sobbing as if it would burst apart. 

He looks around with a glance of fear. 
To see that no ruthless eye is near. 



132 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Then draws from his bosom his cherished toy, 
His mother's last gift to her own dear boy : 
It was a knife with a silver blade, 
And of mother-of-pearl was the handle made. 

That little boy has a step-dame stern, 
Whose evil feelings against him burn ; 
Though once on the orphan boy she smiled, 
And kindly treated her husband's child ; 
But a change was on her feelings thrown 
When she had a httle babe of her own, 
For she loved her babe with a love so great, 
Her love for the orphan was turned to hate : 
For it was a thought she could not bear 
That Edwin should be his father's heir ; 
"And all would be for my child," she said. 
In her guilty heart, " were but Edwin dead !" 

Oh ! a mother's love is a holy thing ! 
But even from good may evil spring. 
And they who would love with a sinless love, 
Must set their affections on things above, 
Nor ever, for perishing things of clay, 
From God and his law be led astray. 

Poor Edwin ! he found it a cruel change, 
For all was bitter and all was strange ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 133 

Now first in his life he felt and heard 
The passionate blow and the angry word, 
And knew not what it could mean the while, 
For he had been ruled by look and smile. 

His father had gone abroad for a time 
To gather wealth in a distant clime, 
And Edwin was left in his step-dame's power, 
Who beat and abused him every hour. 
But once in a day the orphan fed. 
And then on a bone or a crust of bread. 
His strength decayed, and a fever came. 
But it made no change in the ruthless dame ; 
She spurned him up as he sunk on the floor. 
From which he gladly would rise no more ; 
And she made him work like the veriest slave ; 
How he longed to rest in his mother's grave ! 

To that mother's grave he crawled one day, 
When he thought the dreaded eye away. 
And told her unconscious ear the wrong 
Her poor little boy had endured so long ; 
Then drew from a secret slit in his vest 
The only comfort he yet possest ; 
It was a knife with a silver blade. 
And of mother-of-pearl was the handle made. 



134 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Alas ! for the cruel step-dame was near, 
And heard what he meant for his mother's ear ; 
On her evil mind temptation flashed : 
At a blow the boy to earth she dashed, — 
She snatched the knife with a sudden start, 
And buried the blade in the orphan's heart. 

She opened the door of his mother's tomb, 
And thrust him down in that place of gloom ; 
She hastened home and she laughed so wild — 
" Come kiss me ! all is your own, my child." 

A month elapsed, and the father came. 
And kissed his babe and his smiling dame ; 
But when he asked for his pretty boy. 
To deepest sorrow it changed his joy ; 
" The child," she said, " of a fever died, 
And was buried at his mother's side." 

A year and another passed away. 

And the babe grew lovelier every day : 

It was a bright and merry child. 

And the father of half his grief beguiled. 

Another year and another past, 

And the child in beauty flourished fast. 

And the father's heart no more was sad, 

And the mother's heart was proud and glad : 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 135 

She forgot lier sin, as too many do, 
And fancied God had forgot it too. 
A guilty deed may be long concealed, 
But its time shall come to be revealed, 
And long unpunished may flourish crime, 
But vengeance cometh in God's good time. 

It was a fair and a sunny day. 

And Robert went in the fields to play ; 

But the shades of night began to fall 

Before he returned to his father's hall — 

" Oh, Robert ! where have you been so long ? 

My child, to wander so late is wrong." 

" Mama, I am sorry I stayed so late, — 

This morning I passed by the churchyard gate, 

And found it open ; I wandered there, 

To gather the flowers so fresh and fair ; 

And weary at last with my play alone, 

I lay me down on the nearest stone. 

I had not been resting long, before 

I noticed a tomb with a little door : 

Oh, mother ! I gazed in fear and doubt. 

For opened the door, and a boy stept out ; 

But when his beauty beamed on my sight, 

My fear gave way to a strange delight. 

His cheek was fair as the sunset skies. 

And like stars of heaven, his sparkling eyes : 

Adown his shoulders his ringlets rolled. 



136 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And glistened and gleamed in sunny gold ; 

But the charm all other charms above, 

Was the smile that melted the heart to love ; 

Yet was it a sad and a serious smile, 

And the tears would start to your eyes the while. 

He came where I lay ; — he spoke — the sound 

Breathed music in all the air around ; 

He lay at my side, and he took my hand, 

And he talked of a brighter and better land, 

Where nothing of evil can enter in. 

Nor sickness nor death, nor sorrow nor sin ; 

Where God's holy children, a radiant band, 

In his garden of glory walk hand in hand ; 

Where all is bliss, and all is love — 

And he whispered — ' Oh, come to my home above !' 

And thus we talked till the close of day. 

And then we arose to go away ; 

But he flung his arms around me, mother, 

And kissed my forehead, and called me — ' Browner !' 

And as he turned to descend the grave. 

He gave me a keepsake — see what he gave !" 

The mother looked — with a frantic start 

She plunged it into her guilty heart — 

It was a knife with a silver blade, 

And of mother-of-pearl was the handle made ! 



ISCELLANEOUS POEMS. ISV 



THE CHOTCE. 



Now lieed my words, my precious girl ! — 
Affection is the richest pearl, 
Nor lightly should be thrown away 
On those who cannot love repay ; 
Beware to whom thou shalt impart 
That priceless jewel of the heart ! 
Care not alone for form or face. 
Or winning w^ords or witching grace ; 
But choose thou one whose honored name 
Thou canst be proud to share and claim ; 
Let it be one of cultured mind. 
Of generous thoughts and feelings kind. 
Who never sought, nor e'er would seek, 
To wrong the helpless or the weak, 
But ever would employ his best 
To shield the friendless and opprest ; 
Who proudly treads temptation down. 
Nor sinks at fortune's darkest frown ; 
Whose equal soul and mind sedate 
Can stand unmoved each change of fate ; 



138 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Whose faith is firm, whose honor bright, 
Whose love is an immortal light ! 
Such were the love, and such alone. 
That can be worthy of thy own ! 



TO MY DAUGHTER. 

My child ! my own, my precious child ! 

When I behold thy charms. 
And look upon the mother sweet 

That folds thee in her arms, 
It seems to me as I possessed 

The richest treasures here ; 
For she is best of all the best, 

Thou dearest of the dear ! 

My child ! 1 have but little store 

Of what most mortals prize ; 
And thousands prankt in pomp and pride. 

My humbler lot despise ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 139 

Yet thinking of ray wife and cliild, 

A prouder head I rear ; 
For she is best of all the best, 

Thou dearest of the dear ! 

My child ! thou hast no heritage 

Except thy father's name, 
Which in misfortune's worst despite 

Has won its way to fame ; 
And fame is only precious, that 

It serves the lot to (heer 
Of these, the best of all the best, 

And dearest of the dear. 

My child ! if all my httle store 

Should in a moment end, 
Should slander blast thy father's fame, — 

Forsake him every friend, — 
Thy mother spared and thou, his head 

Above the storm would rear. 
Blest with the best of all the best. 

And dearest of the dear ! 

My child ! in all thy path of life 

Thy mother's steps pursue, 
And let the pattern of her worth 

Be ever in thy view ; 



140 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

So shall thy father's heart be glad 
And proud of thy career, 

And thou be best of all the best, 
And dearest of the dear ! 



MOUNT VERNON. 

No need of trophy or of bust 
In honor of this sacred dust, 
For Liberty herself shall stand 
His monument to every land ! 
The very name of Washington 
Protects the blessings that he won ; 
For bad ambition cowers with shame 
Before that great and awful name ! 

And does his dust alone remain, 
Whose valor burst a nation's chain, 
Whose wisdom made that nation great. 
Whose virtues are her rock of fate ! 
And could he die ? Ye sons of earth ! 
Your power, your glory, and your worth, 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 141 

What are they ? — what avail they all, 
Since death could even him enthrall ! 

This moment, glancing from the tomb 

That veils his narrow bed of gloom, 

Upon the skies to fix my sight, 

That veil his spirit's home of light, 

I saw the stars in splendor dim, 

Yet deep, through liquid azure swim, 

And as their beauty on me beamed, 

To whisper to my soul they seemed ; 

" What wonder man must hfe resign. 

Since even we must cease to shine ! 

And not the starry host alone 

Must fall before destruction's throne ; 

The moon that from the sky's embrace 

Bends on you like an angel's face. 

And even he whose faintest beams 

Bathe worlds and worlds in Hving streams, — 

In darkness must their bed be made. 

W^hat wonder man as low is laid ? 

That valor cannot death disarm, 

Nor even beauty's magic charm ; 

That warlike arm and seraph brow 

Must rot in earth, in dust must bow ! 

Yet there's a light beneath the sk}' 

That may be dimmed, but cannot die ; 



142 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Whatever clouds may on it dwell, 
The soul is indestructible ; 
A thousand suns may rise and set, 
And leave the soul undying yet ; 
And to the soul that dwelt in Him 
Compared, a thousand suns wear dim !" 



THE HERO. 



INSCRIBED TO JAMES B. K . 

Let others sing- of deeds of arms 
By heroes who have ravaged earth, 

Who shook the world with war's alarms. 

While death and carnage crowned their worth ; 

A nobler hero claims my song 

Than we on history's page may find ; 

Not his the fame of doing wrong — 
He lives a blessing to mankind. 

A blessing and a martyr too — 
For them all comfort he forsakes ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 143 

When others for assistance sue, 
From friends and family he breaks. 

He leaves his food, he leaves his sleep, 

E'en in the deadest hour of night, 
Though floods descend and tempests sweep, 

And heaven denies one gleam of light. 

Through storm and darkness on he goes, 

To hut or hall — no matter where ; 
Intent to soothe the sufiferer's woes. 

And save the mourner from despair. 

Scenes he must view that break his heart, 
And deeds perform his blood that chill ; 

But so that he may good impart, 
He acts as with an iron will. 

And he must bear with vain complaints, 
When nature makes the progress slow ; 

But with a patience worthy saints, 
Will still his needful cares bestow. 

Alike to palaces of wealth. 

Or hovels where the friendless pine. 
He carries comfort, life, and health, 

As if a messenger divine. 



144 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

For this his comfort up he gave, 
For this his health is often lost, 

And oft another's hfe to save 
The peril of his life has cost. 

Who is this hero, who may claim 

The world's applause and that of heaven 

Ah, friend ! if I should breathe thy name, 
No other answer need be given ! 

A\\ good physicians share the praise — 
May worthy honors on thee fall ! 

But thou who hast prolonged my days, 
I fain would praise thee more than all ! 

But not for praise didst thou impart 

Thy aid, or any selfish ends ; 
Yet take this tribute of my heart, 

Best of physicians and of friends ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 145 



WOMAN'S MINISTRY. 



Are bright as heaven's opening gleams, 
And give to life a cliarm divine, 
That wisdom sorrows to resign. 
Yet much they err who seek in this 
The only or the highest bliss, 
Or deem that woman's noblest part 
Is but to give and win a heart. 
This angel (such in all but wings) 
Was born for higher, holier things. 
And best her ministry fulfils 
In smoothing life's pervading ills. 
'Tis hers to soothe the troubled mind, 
'Tis hers the broken heart to bind, 
To turn the erring soul to prayer, 
And snatch the sinner from despair ; 
To hover round affliction's bed, 
With angel look and fairy tread ; 
Receive affection's dying breath 
And seal the cherished eyes in death ; 
7' 



146 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

And all the while forbear to show 
The sorrows God alone can know ! 
The spirit thus sublimes the clay, 
All selfish taint refines away, 
Till too divine to be concealed. 
The perfect angel stands revealed I 



NEW YEAR HYMN 

Thanks to our heavenly Father ! 

Though angels tune his praise. 
He will permit his children 

Their humbler song to raise. 
Thanks to our heavenly Father ! 

Whose love protects us here, 
And spares us yet, to welcome 

Another happy year. 

For all the years departed, 
For all the years to come. 

For all the thousand blessings 
That crown our happy home ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 147 

For all our loving kindred, 

For all the friends we claim, 
We thank our heavenly Father, 

And bless his holy name. 



ON THE DEATH OF A YOUNG SISTER. 

But yesterday a child of pain, 

That saddened pity's eye — 
To day, a seraph called to reign 

Above the stars on high ! 
Well might the suffering move our tears, 

Which she endured below ; 
But now that heaven her soul inspheres. 

Those tears should cease to flow. 

Why should we her release deplore 

From fate's relentless arm ? 
Why grieve that she shall grieve no more ? 

As if we wished her harm ! 
Away with the repining tear, 

The ingrate sigh forbear. 
Which, if she up in heaven could hear, 

Would grieve her even there ! 



148 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Yet Nature's voice, more mighty far 

Than all the rest can say, 
Still calls us from the radiant star, 

Down to the mouldering clay ; 
And not in words the magic lies, 

To calm the anguish wild, 
Of one whose lonely heart replies, — 

" It was my child ! my child !" 

And God, who knows a mother's heart — 

Permits a mother's tears. 
When from the cherub doomed to part, 

The holiest tie endears ; 
And Jesus an example gave, 

All feehng hearts accept ; 
Weep on — for at affection's grave, 

The Prince of Glory wept ! 

That we have lost her we may weep ; 

Yet knowing she is blest — 
That all her cares are hushed to sleep 

Upon her Saviour's breast — 
That thought with its consoling power, 

Amid our tears shall gleam, 
Like rainbow in a summer shower, 

Or moonlight on a stream. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 149 

Her calm submission to the rod, 



Which made all else rejoine, 
Revealed her as a child of God, 

While yet on earth, divine ! 
With sweetest thoughts of heavenly birth, 

Her sainted mind was fed, 
Which flung a glory, not of earth, 

Around her dying bed ! 

May we from her example learn 

Submission to our lot, 
And to the Rock of Ages turn. 

Whose promise faileth not ! 
So shall our sorrows pave the way 

To the eternal home. 
Where our beloved has^ne to-day. 

And seems to whisper, " Come !" 



150 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



MY CAP. 

My cap ! my well-worn leather cap ! 

Though time has dimmed thy glossy hue, 
Though broken hangs thy useless strap, 

And spots obscure thy band of blue, 
I would not give thee for the best 

That graces fashion's votary ; 
So long hast thou my brow carest. 

Thou hast become a part of me ! 

And happy thoughts of better worth, 

Are born in thjjifebscure embrace, 
Than any diadem of earth 

Encircles in its resting-place. 
With thee on my unhonored head 

I con the page of mystic lore. 
Explore the lights by genius shed, 

And gather wisdom's precious ore. 

For years, in every scene of pride 
Or joy that it was mine to tread. 

My chosen friend was at my side, 
And thou, my cap ! upon ray head ; 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 151 

And thus we rambled many a mile, 
To witness nature's wildest cliarras, 

To revel in lier glorious smile, 
Or worship her sublime alarms. 

We braved the tempest's furious shock, 

In shivering night or burning day ; 
Headlong we leaped from rock to rock, 

Or through the forest toiled our way, 
Or wandered where the rivers glide 

In darkness by the tangled cliff, 
Or tossed upon their swelling tide 

That sobbed around the shuddering skiff! 

With Jerome thou hast seen me share 

All the communion friendship knows, 
The wildest hope, the deepest care, 

The brightest joys, the darkest woes — 
To him, then, when I must depart 

To lay my head in nature's lap. 
For kingdom I'd bequeathe my heart, 

For diadem — my leather cap ! 



152 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 



TO A BEREAVED FRIEND. 

If life were only given to know 

Sucli comforts as on earth may grow, 

And every hope were crushed in death — 

Oh ! who would care for mortal breath, 

Though cradled in the lap of wealth, 

Though flushed with beauty, youth, and health. 

Though crowned with fame and throned in power. 

Since all must vanish in an hour ! — 

Since pain and ruin, wrong and care, 

Lie lurking for us everywhere ; 

And, worst of all, since v/e must part 

With all that winds into our heart. 

And to the darkness of the tomb 

Resign their love, and light, and bloom ! 

In such a moment to our eyes 

It seems the sun forsakes the skies, 

And with the loved one's funeral pall. 

One robe of darkness covers all ! 

Is there a grief more deep and wild 
Than theirs who mourn a cherished child ? 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 153 

The " little friend," tlie playmate dear, 
Whose voice was melody to hear, 
Whose ftiiry steps at its advance 
AVould make the heart responsive dance ; 
Whose smile was as the blessed sun 
That gladdens all it looks upon ; 
Whose winning ways and words of love 
Seemed heralds of the bliss above ! 
Of all that love and all that bliss. 
Oh, God ! remains there only this — 
The dying bed — the doom to part — 
The coffin and the broken heart ! 

In such an hour of bitter woe 
What comfort can the world bestow ? 
Can fame or fortune, pomp or power. 
Retrieve the loss for but an hour ? 
Can science from the depths of lore 
A balm for such a wound explore ? 
Can reason, wisdom, genius, frame 
A word that one may comfort name ? 
Philosophy declaims in vain. 
And sympathy itself is pain ! 

If in this hour of darkest night 

The mourner hails one source of hght, 



154 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

And turns from his despair to bless 
The Sun — the Sun of Righteousness ! 
If he should find his sure retreat 
From every grief at Jesus' feet — 
If there indeed he should attain 
The comfort sought on earth in vain, 
Oh ! who its blest effects can view, 
Nor feel religion mzist be true ? 

In vain, my friend, would I impart 
Some comfort to thy bleeding heart ; 
For words, although as kindly meant 
As mine, and far more eloquent, 
In sorrow's ear unheeded sound ; 
And thou hast better comfort found — 
Religion comes with radiant face. 
And points thee to that better place. 
Where those dear cherubs, hand in hand, 
Expectant of their father stand : 
For God shall in his time restore 
His gifts, to be recalled no more. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 155 



REST, BABY, REST! 

Rest, baby, rest ! rest, baby, rest ! 
Thy pillow is a mother's breast, 
Which heaves and falls with throbs of joy 
Beneath thy cherub head, my boy ! 
Upon the heart that loves thee best, 
Rest, baby, rest ! rest, baby, rest ! 

Sleep, baby, sleep ! sleep, baby, sleep ! 
And closer to thy shelter creep ; 
Thy cradle is a mother's heart- 
Watched by a mother's eyes thou art. 
Which could for very fondness weep — 
Sleep, baby, sleep ! sleep, baby, slee[> ! 

My boy ! my own and only boy ! 
Thy father's pride ! thy mother's joy ! 
May God thy future being keep 
As sinless as thy infant sleep ! 
May dreams as pure thy life employ, 
My boy, my bright and blessed boy ! 



156 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



WALTER SCOTT AND WASHINGTON 
IRVING. 

God bless thee, Walter Scott ! 

For thou hast blest mankind, 
And flung upon their lot 

The brightness of thy mind, 
And filled the soul with pleasures 

None other can impart. 
And stored the mind with treasures, 

And purified the heart. 

Shame on them v/ho abuse 

Their gifts of peerless price, 
And prostitute the muse 

To passion or to vice ! 
Who pour into the mind 

The bitterness and gall 
Which makes us hate mankind. 

Ourselves, and heaven, and all ! 
We leave their withering page 

For thine, with healing rife. 
The fevered soul assuage, 

And drink the stream of life I 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. ] 5 Y 

^hy shrine is virtue's altar, 

Thy fame without a blot ; 
God bless thee, dear Sir Walter ! 

God bless thee, Walter Scott ! 

One only son of light 

Attends thy cloudless j^ath, 
In purity as bright 

As thy own spirit hath ; 
To charm away distress, 

To comfort, to delight, 
To teach, to aid, to bless, 

He shares thy wizard might ! 
His muse from virtue's shrine 

Hath never turned astray, 
Nor ever breathed a line 

That love could wish away ; 
The temple of the free 

Is radiant with his fame, 
His country's glory he — 

And Irving is his name ! 

God's blessings on ye both ! 

Twin heirs of glory's prize ! 
How often when I loath 

All that around me hes, 



158 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

When in the crowded world 

I feel myself alone, 
From all communion hurled 

That by the rest is known, 
Deban-ed, by fate's control, 

From every human sound, 
And burying my soul 

In solitude profound — 
Oh, then, ye glorious pair ! 

I seek the world ye give, 
And find a kindred there 

With whom I love to live, 
Your precious magic nerving 

My soul to bear its lot — 
God bless thee, gentle Irving ! 

God bless thee, Walter Scott ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 159 



THE FONT. 

No boon that fortune can impart 
Can with a gracious child compare ; 

It winds into the parent's heart, 
And twines with every fibre there. 

When to my arms my children spring, 
Or on my breast their heads recline, 

Or to my lips of love they cling, 
No joy on earth can equal mine. 

Yet e'en on these so fair and dear. 

Whose looks are more of heaven than earth, 
Some shadow will at times appear. 

Some stain that speaks of mortal birth. 

But there is an immortal stream 
That cleanseth every stain away ; 

And where those living waters gleam, 
All darkness brightens into day. 

And thither we our children bring, 

To Him who said, " Forbid them not !" 

That He within that sacred spring, 

May cleanse their soul from every spot. 



160 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Saviour of all ! who in the charms 

Of childhood once this world hast trod, 

We bring our treasures to thy arms, 
And dedicate them to our God ! 



THE SUM OF PHILOSOPHY 

Do fortune's smiles upon thee wait, 
With honor, power, and high estate ? 
Let not thy heart be too elate — 

All this shall pass away. 
Art thou the sport of fortune's hate. 
Forsaken, poor, and desperate ? 
Still bear the worst with mind sedate — 

All this shall pass away. 
Our joys and pains are brief in date ; 
The deeds we do of good or great 
Alone survive our mortal state. 

And never pass away ! 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 161 



JANE EYRE. 

WRITTEN AFTER READING THAT ADMIRABLE WORK. 

What is the substance of all tliis ? — to teach 

The nothingness of the external frame 
Of human beauty (serving but to reach 

The senses, and a sensual love inflame) ; 
To show that form and feature disappear 

In the diviner beauties of the mind, 
When heavenly spirits meet on earthly sphere, 

And blend toQ;ether in a love refined ! 



SPRING IS COMING. 

Spring is coming ! spring is coming ! 
Birds are chirping, insects humming ; 
Flowers are peeping from their sleeping : 
Streams, escaped from winter's keeping, 



162 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

In delighted freedom rushing, 
Dance along in music gushing. 
Scenes, of late in deadness saddened, 
Smile in animation gladdened : 
All is beauty, all is mirth, 
All is glory upon earth : 
Shout we then with nature's voice, 
" Welcome, spring ! rejoice ! rejoice !" 

Spring is coming ! come, my brother, 
Let us wander with each other 
To our well remembered wildwood. 
Flourishing in nature's childhood, 
Where a thousand birds are singing, 
And a thousand flowers ar^ springing, 
Where the dancing sunbeams quiver 
On the forest-shaded river ; 
Let our youth of feeling out 
To the youth of nature shout, 
While the hills repeat our voice — 
" Welcome, spring ! rejoice ! rejoice !" 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 163 



LOVE WILL FIND OUT THE WAY. 

Though father and mother 

Forbid me thy sight, 
Though sister and brother 

Against iis unite, 
Though all that surround us 

To part us essay. 
From all will I win thee — 

Love will find out the way. 

Though oceans may sunder, 

Or mountains may close. 
Or tempests may thunder 

The path to oppose ; 
Though earthquakes between us 

The abyss may display, 
Through all will I win thee — 

Love will find out the way. 



164 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

Through forest and desert, 

Through flood and through flame, 
Through pain and through peril. 

Through sorrow and shame, 
Through darkness and danger, 

By night or by day. 
Through death and destruction, 

Love will find out the way. 

Yes, I will regain thee, 

My chosen, my best ! 
My bird ! thou shalt nestle 

Again in my breast ; 
This heart for thy refuge. 

This arm for thy stay, 
I will guard thee for ever — 

Love will find out the way. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 165 



NEW YEAR THOUGHTS. 

How many are now in the cold grave reposing 

Who welcomed the dawn of the year that has 
fled? 
How little, alas ! did they think that its closing 

Should find them inurned in the home of the 
dead? 
How many this year to the grave's dark dominions 

Shall hasten, who welcome its rising career, 
Ere time once again on his air-feathered pinions 

Shall usher the dawn of another New Year ! 

And I, who now muse on the thousands departed, 

May follow them ere the return of this day. 
Bedewed with the tears of some friend broken- 
hearted, 

Who now smiles upon me, unthinking and gay ; 
And better than I should survive to deplore them. 

The few that to share my afiections remain, 
Oh, better by far I should perish before them, 

Nor hail the retm-n of a New Year again ! 



166 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

How sad to be torn from our friends and connex- 
ions, 

And hid in the valley of darkness alone ! 
What comfort to hope their surviving affections 

Shall cherish our image on memory's throne ! 
The hearts that now love me, will they not regret 
me ? 

Will ever my memory cease to be dear ? 
The friends of my bosom — oh, can they forget me, 

If swept from their sight by the close of the year ? 



GOOD NIGHT, MAMMA! 

A LITTLE girl, some five years old. 
Came, hke the morning star, 

Each morrow to her mother's heart — 
" Good morning, dear mamma !" 

And running to her mother's arms. 
She kissed her o'er and o'er, 

And prattled out her love to one 
Who loved her more and more. 



MISCELLANEOt/S POEMS. 167 

And when night's curtains closed around 

The sun's resplendent car, 
She kissed her mother, and she said, 

" Good night, my dear mamma !" 

Poor little girl ! her mother died, 

And to the grave was borne ; 
Where shall she find a mother now, 

To greet at night and morn ? 

Next morning, when she rose and dressed, 

And found no mother near, 
Without a word she slipped away, 

To seek her mother dear. 

In haste she to the churchyard ran ; 

From home it was not far ; 
She clasped her mother's grave, and said, 

" Good morning, dear mamma !" 

. All day she lingered near the grave, 

Till rose the evening star. 
Then turning slowly home she said, 

" Good night, my dear mamma I" 



168 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 



WEDDED LOVE. 

I MAY not call to grandeur's hall 

The lady of my heart ; 
I have not power or earthly dower 

My truelove to impart ; 
I bid her from a sphere to come 

That far is mine above ; 
Yet shall not this impair the bliss 

That hails our wedded love ! 

She will not grieve a home to leave 

Magnificent in pride, 
In lowly cot to share my lot, 

Obscurely there to hide ; 
Though desolate of friend or mate, 

Save me and God above, 
Yet shall not this impair the bliss 

That hails our wedded love. 

She has been nurst among the first 

And proudest of the land, 
Where from her head all danger fled, 
At fortune's magic wand : 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 169 

But ill my bower in stormy hour 

Can shield my gentle doye ; 
Yet shall not this impair the bliss 

That hails our wedded love. 

I every day a tender lay 

Shall waken to her name, 
And every night to throne of might 

Shall kneel to bless the same ; 
For years and years, through smiles and tears, 

I'll prize her all above ; 
And well shall this insure the bliss 

That hails our wedded love. 



RESOLUTION. 

It is a goodly sight to see a man 

Whom fortune's mailed hand has stricken down, 

Rise in his strength of soul, and stand erect 

In his integrity, and lifting high 

His calm majestic brow, with steady step 

Pursue his purposed path unswervingly, 

Though conscious of the perils yet to come. 



170 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 

We ave not masters of our circumstances, 
Yet circumstances should not master us ; 
We cannot turn the current of events, 
Yet with a skihul and determined hand 
Can guide our barque, now yielding to the stream, 
And now resisting ; till we reach at last 
The haven we have in view. 



A WOMAN AS SHE SHOULD BE. 

In person decent, and in dress, 
Her manners and her words express 

The decency of mind ; 
Good humor brightens up her foco. 
Where passion never leaves a trace. 

Nor frowns a look unkind. 
No vexing sneer, no angry word, 
No scandal from her lips is heard. 

Where truth and sweetness blend ; 
Submission to her husband's will, 
Her study is to please him still. 

His fond and faithfid friend. 



MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. 17] 

She watcLes his returning wa}^, 
When from the troubles of tlie day 

He seeks a home of bliss ; 
She runs to meet him with a smile, 
And if no eye be near the while, 

The smile is witli a Idss ! 



JENNY LIND. 

All hail to Jenny Liiid ! 
The pure in heart and mind, 
The lofty and refined, 
The generous and kind — 
All hail to Jenny Lind ! 

"What though to her belong 
The highest realms of song, 
The empire is more strong 

Of her angelic mind ; 
For it hath given her part 
In every noble heart — 

All hail to Jenny Lind ! 



172 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS 

They say that she has given 
To us the airs of heaven, 

Novy first to earth revealed ; 
It may be so — her voice 
Must not this ear rejoice, 

By fate for ever sealed ; 
Yet can her deeds impart 

Such music to my heart 

As heaven alone could yield. 

Not by the wondrous powers 
That witch this world of ours, 

Does she my homage bind ; 
Her glorious mind and soul 
On mine have a control 

More potent and refined ! 
For all thy deeds that grace 
And bless the human race, 

I bless thee, Jennv Lind 1 



^\ 



